Imperator
by Stormaktstiden
Summary: Order. They said they'd restore order, but none of them realized what 'order' meant to him. Their world is collapsing, but Charles Trevelyan promises them he can craft better one from the ashes. What he did not promise was that it would be at all an honest journey. The road to power is paved with lies and hypocrisy, but no regrets. Minor AU - Dark!Inquisitor - M!Trevelyan/Multiple
1. A Rude Awakening

A/N: About the whole AU thing, the only thing that it changes specifically is the Herald's past. However, that doesn't necessarily mean that the effects of said past will not have a large impact upon the plot. 'Cus (spoiler) it definitely will, and by that I mean throwing the original plot of DA Inquisition totally off course.

So basically it goes like this: _This text is used most of the time when characters are thinking, but it can also be used for putting emphasis on something someone says as well as being used for sudden flashbacks._

 **This text isn't really used that much expect for when the speaker is not a normal being and/or has a very distorted voice.**

 ** _Both these texts used in unison can either mean that: 1. someone is thinking and there extreme emphasis on what they are thinking. 2. A abnormal being is speaking, but is only speaking to another through their head._ _(This second one is kinda specific.)_**

A horizontal line can signify several different things. It can be either a change of perspective (meaning that a different character's thoughts are heard), a time skip, or a simple way to switch from one place to another.

Also, I do not own Dragon Age. (Shocking, I know.)

* * *

"What do you see when you look at this, Nephew?" Asked a man as he placed his finger on an unrolled piece of paper that lay on the table that he and his Nephew sat at. The child that sat across from him wore a baby blue tunic fashioned from the finest silk in the Free Marches. In stark contrast, he only wore a simple black cloak with a hood that darkened out any view of his face.

"It's a map of our home: The Free Marches. Hambleton, Kirkwall, Starkhaven, Wycome, Kaiten, Hercina, Markham, Ansburg, Tantervale, and, our home, Ostwick!" The child exclaimed as he finished naming the different city states of the Free Marches. The man that sat at the table with him looked at the boy and saw his blue eyes gleam with pride.

 _As they should._ The man thought. The boy could memorize maps, names, landmarks, and much more while only being on Thedas for seven years. Now all he had to do was to create some potential out of that big brain of his. _Such a shame that he would have been treated like a normal boy, sent off to the Chantry like any other child. That is, if I were not here. Luckily for the both of us, this child will be no Chantry boy._

"Correct." The hooded man replied and shifted his finger north on the map. "What is here, to the north of your home?" The child frowned, eyes flashing with anger as he looked to where his Uncle's finger pointed to.

"Tevinter." He spoke with such venom, it disappointed his Uncle.

 _His father's influence no doubt. The stories that have been passed down from generation to generation of war with the Imperium do leave their mark. How ironic._

"Correct again. And what here, farther north than Tevinter?" He questioned as he slid his finger off Tevinter, off the most northern coast, passed a large island, and stopped on a landmass that was cut off by the top of the map.

His Nephew stared at the map for a moment. "I don't remember, Uncle." The boy answered, scratching his head in confusion.

"Par Vollen. That is what lays beyond the Imperium." The elder of the two spoke, his eyes in a deadlock with the sketch of the Qunari homeland.

"I'm sorry I forgot, Uncle. It will not happen again." He could hear his Nephew apologizing but his focus was unable to be moved from Par Vollen, and his mind unable to think of anything but the memories of his experiences with its inhabitants. The dark room they sat in, only lit by a candle, stayed silent for a time. "Uncle Cato?"

Cato shot up from his chair, his hood falling off and revealing a pale faced man with black hair that fell to his shoulders. There were also burn marks that ran up his neck and reached his left cheek. "Today's lesson is finished." He said as he rolled the map up and turned to the door.

"But we didn't go over Orlais! Or the Anderfels!" The child blurted out as he jumped from his chair and grabbed the back of his Uncle's robe. Cato sighed as he turned to the boy and knelt to his height.

"All of this will be yours one day, Charles. Remember that and the names of these nations will be secondary." Cato proclaimed with a chuckle as he handed the map to him.

"I will rule all of these different countries? All by myself? How am I supposed to that?" Charles asked as he gazed into his Uncle's emerald eyes, but Cato only laughed at his doubts and rubbed his Nephew's brown hair.

 _Such an innocent child._ Cato thought as he ran his fingers through Charles' auburn locks. _Doubtful of his abilities, unsure of his greatness and even fearful of the power he could weld._ The smile on the his face widened.

 _It will be interesting to see what will remain once I've ripped that innocent heart out of his chest._

"Tell you what, Charles: from now on, instead of going to the Chantry for your education, you will meet me here again and I will teach you in a day what the Chantry takes a month to explain."

"I'm not sure my father will like that. He's kinda into the whole Chantry thing." Charles grimaced at what his devout father would think of him skipping his Chantry lessons. He had always been told that he would live a happy life, but only if he kept to the dogma of the Chanty and not to paths they had deemed _heretical_ and _sinful._ Yet he could not stop a small feeling of curiosity arising within him whenever he gazed into the abyss of what lay beyond the Chantry and their Maker.

"He will agree, that I will make sure of. Now run off to your castle, I'm sure they've sent a dozen search parties after you by now." Cato finished as he stood and exited the room without another word, leaving the door open and allowing the light of day to enter.

It was just Charles in the small shack now. Him and the map. He opened it once more, looking at what he had been taught to call "Thedas". His Uncle's words echoed in his head as a gust of wind from outside blew out the room's candle.

 _All of this will be yours one day, Charles._

 **Eighteen years later:**

The cell he found himself in smelt like a backwater Denerim alley. His knees felt bruised and his legs were terribly sore. The stocks that bound his hands together felt too tight and his hair greased. But the thing that shook him the most as he sat in the dim, damp room, only able to see by the torches in its four corners, was that he had no clue as to where he was. As he was currently, Charles Trevelyan was at a loss.

Thinking back, the last thing he remembered was arriving at The Conclave. The Conclave was, from what he had heard from Caro, proposed by the Divine as a peaceful meeting between the Chantry and the rebelling mages. Uncle Cato had faith that the Divine could bring peace between the Mages and the Templars, but Charles was skeptical of the success of diplomacy between two groups with such bad blood.

He and his Uncle were to attend the meeting to represent Ostwick, each of the Free Marcher cities were to send their own representatives as well. Even though the Free Marches were in a confederation of sorts, that didn't stop conflict arising between the different cities, Charles knew that better than anyone, and thus cities sent their respective representatives individually. However Charles was currently less concerned about the politics of the Free Marches and more with his situation at the present, and more specifically that he had no idea how he came to be in such a predicament.

He did not remember being put into these wooden stocks. He did not remember being forced to his knees in the middle of this dreary cell. He did not remember meeting the four gladiators that stood with their swords drawn at him, and he most certainly did not remember having his hand pulsating a stinging green aura.

 _The headache I have tells me that I may have gotten drunk and done some things... unworthy of me. Maker, I gave up drinking for a reason. I just hope I didn't pull another one like I did at the Montilyet's ball_. He thought to himself, reminiscing one of the more fonder memories of his life as he examined his hand which, seconds before, had glowed green and shot sneering pain up his arm.

"What am I doing here? Who is holding me in this cell?" He spoke, demanding an explanation from the men who encircled him, but the attempt to get information out of the warriors was met with silence. Their helmets blocked him from seeing the faces of his captors, so he could only guess what they were thinking right now.

"Believe it or not, that wasn't a rhetorical question." Charles gibed as he continued to inspect his hand.

"Quiet, murderer!" One of his guards lashed out at him.

 _Murderer?_ It was not the first time he had been called that but it was the first time he'd been accused of such a thing when bound in stocks while on his knees at the mercy of four strangers. _Not an advantageous position at all_. Charles grimaced, trying to imagine what his Uncle would react like if he was brought before him like this. _Only logical thing to do is get out of this position._

"Four men having to guard one, with bondage none the less. I knew you Ferelden folk were of the cheapest and lowest quality but this is just ridiculous."

Despite his cruel words, the guards stood silent and still.

 _Guess I'll need to dig deeper._

"But, alas, I am not surprised." He began, his tone as smooth as the softest silk yet venomous as the most poisonous serpent. "The average Ferelden man simply cannot keep up with a Free Marcher such as myself. Your kind are simply of a lower brand. There is only one Ferelden man who I could ever consider worthy of respect, and you people sent him away to serve the Wardens"

"I said quiet, brat!" The guard said breaking character and moving towards him, raising his sword to strike him

 _That hit the nail on the head._ Charles thought, smirking as he raised his stocks to catch the blow. The sword crashed into the wooden stocks with not enough force to break them into two, but just enough that Charles could rip the wood apart with his own strength. As soon as he was able to move his arms freely he, still on his knees, grabbed the man's left arm before quickly bringing his fist, which still had the stock attached to it, across the guard's helmet, knocking him out cold and breaking some of the wood off as he did. The other three guards rushed to restrain Charles, but before they reached him he was already stood on his feet.

Two of the guards stopped in their tracks at seeing the former prisoner unarm one of his captors, but the third ran at him, thrusting his sword at Charles. Instead of allowing his chest and the blade to get well acquainted, Charles ducked and the guard's thrust only caused him to feel a rush of wind. By grabbing the blade's center with his left hand, placing his right just above that, and snatching the blade, Charles had turned the sword into a mace as he slammed the crossguard into the guard's helmet.

"You know, a wise man once said that it is a terribly bad career decision as a soldier to stand as still as a statue as your comrades are brought down before you." Charles remarked with a laugh as he began twirling the sword he had taken from one of his unconscious captors, facing the two remaining as the body of their fellow guard fell stiff to the floor.

The two guards just stood there, staggered at how in less than a minute their situation had been turned completely upside down.

Charles could only tisk and shake his head at their failed teamwork "This wasn't the only thing that this wise man said." He turned his gaze to directed pierce directly into the black eyeholes of hi foes. "He also said that standing between a dazed man who knows how to use a sword and his goal is also a terrible choice, not only for keeping your job as a guard," Slowly, Charles pointed his sword at the door behind the two guards, "but for making sure your wives don't have to turn to prostitution to feed your children because daddy decided to die early."

The two stared at him for a moment before one decided on a course of action. "Go, get the Seeker, I'll hold him off."

Charles frowned when he noticed that the other guard had ran out the door before the first could finish his sentence.

 _Coward._

* * *

Cassandra Pentaghast was not having a good day.

The Conclave was in ruins, literally. No one could out run the blast. It was all reduced to rumble, and then again to ash. Against the blinding burning light, there was no use to fight. The woman who brought both Mage and Templar to the peace conference, Divine Justinia, was dead. Killed in a mass explosion along with everyone else in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, all accept one man.

Having no other suspects, she and those that remained at the Conclave after the explosion decided to take the survivor prisoner. After the dust from the explosion settled, then appeared what the men had taken to calling the Breach. She did not care what they called it. What concerned her was that this "Breach" was currently spilling demons from the sky at an alarming rate, and did not seem to have any intent of stopping anytime soon.

But this man who had survived the explosion held what Solas said to be the key to closing the breach and the smaller Rifts, which also spat out demons, that had seemingly popped into existence after the explosion. So one could imagine that hearing that said man had somehow broken free did not make her day any brighter, or for Leliana.

Both Left and Right Hands of the late Divine raced towards the cell which was supposed to hold the prisoner. Cassandra kicked down the door to find the prisoner standing next to two limp bodies and one knelt with the prisoner's sword drawn across his neck.

"The door was open. No need to be aggressive." The prisoner taunted as she and Leliana entered his cell.

"Put the sword down." Cassandra snapped at the prisoner as she grinded her teeth together in anger. "Now!"

She did not like this. She did not like having the prisoner unchained, armed, and with his sword at the throat of one of her soldiers. This was not improving her day at all!

"Some questions first, if you don't mind." The prisoner asked, his voice just as sickeningly smooth as before as he shoot a glance at Leliana before returning his gaze to Cassandra.

"You are in no position to negotiate with us, now lay down your weapon!" Cassandra barked at him.

 _I am interrogating him, not the other way around!_

The prisoner looked down at the man who he held hostage, then at Leliana, then back to her. "As a matter of fact, I am in a position to negotiate. Unless you want to be responsible for the death of a hostage and the grief of a family."

Cassandra looked at the man on his knees. He was shaking with fear at the sight of the Right Hand and Left Hand facing off with the Divine's murderer. But her anger at the man who held him hostage and her drive for vengeance overwhelmed any feeling for concern for the guard turned hostage.

"I will not be interrogated by my own prisoner!" She exploded, fuming as she began to pull her sword from her scabbard. However, as she drew her weapon, Cassandra felt a hand grab the arm which she had chosen to hold her sword.

"Let me handle this, Cassandra." Leliana proposed as she held Cassandra's arm. Her voice was assertive, but as their eyes met, Cassandra knew Leliana, her friend, was truly concerned for her. "This one is not like Varric, let me deal with him. Head to the forward camp, and I will meet you there with the prisoner."

Before Cassandra answered, She took one last look at the prisoner. The cold steel of his sword was still resting on the neck of one of his former guards as seemed to watch the two of them with what looked to be amusement. She was too upset to deal with the prisoner, and she realized that she had let her anger get the better of her again.

 _Maker forgive me._

"You are right, this one is not like Varric at all." Cassandra sighed, her sword returning to its scabbard. "Stay safe, my friend." She told Leliana before turning to exit the cell, looking back one more time as Leliana turned to face the man who was not so much a prisoner anymore.

* * *

Leliana had done many interrogations before. Humans, elves, dwarfs, even qunari, she had gotten them all to talk, but there was something about this one that set her off of her normal cool. When she last was in this cell the man had been incapacitated and locked in stocks, now he stood over the bodies of two of his former guards and had another on his knees with a blade on his throat. She did not know it then, but they had meet before once in a very different time.

"They aren't dead. They made need some ice for their heads, but they'll live." The only standing man in the room said to her.

 _Damn it!_ she cursed to herself. Revealing emotion was the first thing she was taught not to do during an interrogation and he had immediately recognized her worry.

"Do you know why you're here? What you've don-" Leliana was about to finish before the man raised his freehand to interrupt her.

"Don't worry, I already know the whole dramatic backstory bit." His voice then switched to a deeper tone, one that would be used when telling a dark story around a campfire. "The Conclave has been destroyed, most of its attendants dead, including Divine Justinia, but there was a survivor of the dreadful explosion, one who was found with a green glow emanating from his hand. Now every soul here believes he was responsible for the Divine and almost everyone at the Conclave being killed, and destroying the last hope of peace in the near future of Thedas. Is that a good summery?"

"Would you care to explain how you came to know that?" Leliana questioned, trying to avoid answering his question and hold onto what little authority she held in her interrogation of him.

"I'll take you ignoring my question as a yes, and you can thank this fellow here for not having to explain everything to me in some ridiculous monologue." The prisoner answered as he turned his head to the man that was on his knees next to him. "And on that note, since you've held up your end of the bargain well enough, I should honor mine." The man said as he lowered his sword from the neck of the soldier, who immediately made a sprint for the door behind Leliana as he felt the edge of the blade leave his throat.

 _...Is this man insane?_ Leliana asked herself, befuddled at what she just saw, at what she believed was a death wish.

"You... you just gave up your only point of leverage against me? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She asked in confusion, thinking there must surely be a logic to his actions. In the blink of an eye, the prisoner brought the point of his sword to press against the palm of his hand. Leliana felt her heart stop for a moment as she realized that it was the same hand that was supposed to be able to close the breach. The smug look on his face only added insult to injury as Leliana realized that the hostage was but the outer layer of his armor, and that a much thicker layer lied below.

"Well now that we have that sorted out, let me explain that me and that fellow who I had on his knees had an gentleman's agreement. He told me what in Andraste's name had happened to the Conclave, and I in return would let him go, but only after I verified that the information was true. So no, I don't randomly give up _points of leverage_ ," He explained, mocking her. "I just am an honorable man!" The prisoner finished, taking a deep breath afterward, and Leliana could swear he sounded offended. "What that man wasn't able to explain was what this green mark is or how I got it, but I do know it holds some sort of importance judging by your panic at seeing me bring this sword against it. That is where I'd hope you would come in and explain said importance."

"Fine... but I will need you to answer a couple questions of mine beforehand" Leliana requested, placing her hands behind her back. "First, what is your name?"

"Charles Trevelyan."

"...The First Champion of Ostwick, as I live and breathe." She spoke in half mock awe as she heard the name that had become the talk of Free Marcher politics.

Charles puffed out his chest slightly. "That is what they've taken to calling me, it's symbolic I suppose. Only the most powerful city-states in the Free Marches have Champions. And boy oh boy did I change the balance of power."

"Starkhaven, Tantervale, Kirkwall, and now Ostwick has one as well thanks to you. Tell me," Leliana couldn't help herself, "are the stories true? Did you really defeat an army with only-" She was interrupted by the prisoner intentionally coughing to stop her talking.

"Excuse me, but isn't this supposed to be an interrogation?"

"This counts as an interrogation! I am questioning you!" She scolded his interruption.

"I wouldn't count every time some star-struck bard asks me about the time where I crossed the Vimmarks on a black stallion with twenty-five thousand men as an interrogation."

Leliana felt her cheeks flush. _Did he just call me star-struck? I am not star-struck!_ Leliana thought to herself as she took a moment to gather herself and regain her professionalism.

"What were you doing at the Conclave?" She asked next.

"My family has been supporting the Chantry for ages. The only reason I went to the conclave is because my family thought it would bring peace between the Templars and the Mages. Not because I wanted to kill the Divine for... for whatever reason you people have made up."

 _It makes sense. The Trevelyans have been close allies with the Chantry for so long that it would be a surprise to not see them at the Conclave. Would one of the most devout families in the Free Marches really murder the Divine_? Leliana asked herself, furrowing her brow, but she already knew the answer.

"Look, I understand that you are mournful at the lost of Her Holiness, but I pray that you understand that I don't know who is responsible for the Conclave's destruction. All I can say is that I'm not. I know I can't prove that to you, not yet, but I promise I will do whatever it takes to find who is responsible and bring him to justice." The prisoner proclaimed as he stared intently into Leliana's eyes.

His eyes were blue like ice, transparent and cold. She had encountered many blue eyes in her life and most were captivating, not to say his weren't attractive, but when she looked into his frozen irises she felt a chill shoot down her spine. She had only felt a chill like this when looking into one other person's eyes, but this man didn't seem the type of person that would work as an "Arcane Advisor" In the Imperial Court like the other women who held eyes similar to his did. There was something, however, that made her feel intrigued by his icy eyes. There was more to this man than a simple handsome noble who had been caught up in a series of unfortunate events.

"Is... there something on my face?" Charles asked, but Leliana could tell he was just trying to get her to stop staring into his eyes.

"No, you're alright." Leliana mumbled as she released her hands, which had been held behind her back throughout their entire talk.

"Now I presume that I'll have to face a trial for the destruction of the Conclave. Correct?" Charles asked her. Leliana sighed, the guard had left the part about the giant demon spitting breach .

"No, there is something you were not told. Come, I will show you outside." She beckoned for him to follow her before turning to leave.

"Wait!" She heard Charles call out from behind her. "I don't think I ever got your name."

Leliana was about to tell this man that he was their only hope to closing a hole in the sky that shot out demons, not to mention the other smaller rifts that had begun to appear after the explosion, and she hadn't even told him her name.

"I am Leliana." She introduced herself with a mock bow, which got her a smile out of the Trevelyan. Seeing someone smile at a time like this, it was a surprise, but it also made her feel happy to know there was not only doom and gloom in the world now that Justina was gone. It made her want to smile back, but she knew any feeling of joy would be short-lived as she remembered that as soon when Charles saw what had resulted from the destruction of the Conclave, the Breach. "We should not waste anymore time." She said, grabbing a pair of cuffs off of the wall and walking over to Charles. "I need you to wear these. Without them, the people out there will feel endangered."

"I understand, Leliana, just get rid of what remains of these stocks." Charles replied, dropping his sword and placing his hands, which were still covered in the shattered wooden of the stocks, in front of her. "It's going to take days to get these splinters out."

"How did you break these anyway?" Leliana asked as she undid the broken stocks and placed the cuffs on his wrists.

"If I survive whatever I wasn't told about, I'll make sure to tell you all about it." Leliana was annoyed that he avoided her question, but she understood that they had been talking for much longer than they should have as she led him out of his cell into the snow.

* * *

Despite his young age, Charles considered himself an experienced man. He had led his city through war, dealt with the politics of Thedas, arranged trade deals and built Ostwick to be something that no one could have imagined, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he emerged from the dark confines of his short-lived cell into the snowy daylight.

 _Maybe letting that guard strike me wasn't that bad of an idea after all._ He thought as he looked above where the Conclave was supposed to have taken place at. Above the ruins of the failed peace meeting for peace there was a literal hole in the sky, colored the same as his glowing hand.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me about?" He asked Leliana, trying to stop his jaw from dropping to the ground as he continued to look at the giant green break in the sky.

"That is part of it."

 _Just part of it?!_

"We call it the Breach. It, along with some smaller rifts, appeared after the explosion at the Conclave and has been shooting out horde upon horde of demons. Growing larger and larger as time goes on."

"And the other part?" Charles asked as he felt a hole in his stomach while he stared into the green tear in the sky. He imagined the hundreds of demons that must have poured out from the Breach, and felt like running for his life, but knew he wouldn't get far.

"The other part is that your mark," Leliana said grabbing his wrist, "is the only thing that can close the Breach." As she released his hand, it began to feel like it was on fire as it flared with green. He felt his knees begin to buckle but Leliana caught him by his arm and held him from falling. "As the Breach grows your mark spreads. If you do not close the Breach then you will die."

"I guess we ought to hurry then." Charles replied.

Leliana nodded her head and turned to lead him towards a camp that was just ahead of his prison. As they passed through the camp Charles saw the men and women stare at him with hate-filled eyes.

"They blame you for the explosion, the Divine's death, the Breach, the Rifts, everything." Leliana spoke in a hushed tone as they walked right through the middle of the camp filled with said people.

"There weren't any Elves or Tevinters around that they could place the blame on instead?" Charles asked, trying to use humor to break some of the tension in the air.

"Well Tevinters and Elves don't usually have glowing green hands, do they?"

Charles turned his head to look at the Left Hand of the Divine. _Did she just try to make a joke?_

After they got a good ways away from the camp, Leliana stopped and turned to him. "If you can close the breach and come back alive, then you will have a trial. That is all I can promise for now." She explained as she freed him from the cuffs.

"I don't think freeing a prisoner before his trial is standard procedure." Charles puzzled, rubbing his sore wrists.

"Did I mention the demons have a tendency to fall from the sky? I think you'd prefer it like this if a demon decides to land on me." Leliana said to him curtly as she turned to cross the bridge they came to after leaving the camp.

Charles sighed again and rolled his eyes. Before following her, he took a look over the bridge they had come to and thought about whether a fall like that would kill him or just break his legs. He'd prefer the former at this point.

 _Why did I even come to this damned Conclave?_ He asked himself, he clenched his fists as he remembered who insisted he come. _Cato._

The man had always said he had "Plans" for him, and now look where they'd gotten him!

 _Was this apart of your plan, Uncle? Did you want this to happen?_ Part of him wanted to believe that it was true that this was all part of some plan by his clever Uncle, but another part of him just saw what was in front of him. His Uncle, who had taught him almost everything he knew about the world, was dead. The Divine was dead too, and the Conclave was destroyed and any chance of peace between Mages and Templars also dead.

Yes, Charles would indeed prefer the former.

 _Coward._ He told himself as he clenched his fists as he imagined news of the Champion of Ostwick being found guilty after he committed suicide, dooming the world with his death.

"Come on!" He heard Leliana call out to him from across the bridge.

Charles gathered his resolve, or what remained of it before looking up from the long drop that lay before him and took off across the bridge after Leliana.

 _Not done here yet._


	2. The Snow Fell

"Whatever magic opened the sky also placed that mark on your hand."

After a short interrogation, Charles followed Leliana up the path towards the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes until they came across a green object hovering in the air. Leliana called it a rift, and below it a dwarf and an elf were fighting a wealth of demons. After helping them put an end to the demons, the bald elf, or "Solas", showed him how to close rifts.

 _I could think of a better name than that. Fissures. Breaks. Schisms._ While Charles thought of better names for the green demon spawning "rifts", the elf was explaining something about the connection between his mark and the Breach.

 _Obviously not as important as making sure I don't have to hear "rift" every time I have to stop demons from pouring out from the fade. I've had enough rifts in my life. Although the rifts I have are usually between my family and friends, people that in general that I should be close to, not rifts that demons like to pop out of._

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation." The elf said to him, interrupting his short feeling of melancholy.

"That's it?" Charles asked, looking up at the Breach in the sky. "And all I have to do is point and shoot? Doesn't sound that difficult."

"Confidence, that's what I like to hear." A voice spoke from behind him. "Varric Tethras: Rogue, story-teller, and occasionally unwelcomed tagalong." He turned to see who he recognized now as the dwarf who had become famous for his stories of the Champion of Kirkwall and his fancy crossbow.

"And I am Solas." The elf who helped him close the Rift told him, offering his hand to Charles. Charles eyed the elf with suspicion but took his hand.

"What's your riveting backstory then?" Charles questioned him, looking him in the eye.

"I am simply an apostate who saw a noble cause in helping the Lady Seeker." The elf stated his intentions. Charles doubted the bald elven apostate would help a Seeker of all people, out of the good of his heart. But right now there were bigger things that needed to be addressed, but he would make sure to find out what that elf was hiding.

"If you three are done getting to know each other, there is a Breach that needs to be sealed." Leliana reminded them with an annoyed tone.

"My thoughts exactly." Charles approved as he turned to the path that led to the forward camp.

After a short trip up the demon-infested path, Charles and his acquaintances reached the forward camp. As they entered the camp he could see the angry woman, who was supposedly a Seeker, from earlier. He had hoped she had calmed down from their last encounter, but he realized that the chances of that were dismal as he saw the familiar face who she was arguing with.

"Rodrick!" Charles exclaimed as he saw the man turned to him, his eyes filling with fear as he saw Charles.

"Lady Seeker, why is this man not in chains? I demand you apprehend this fiend immediately!"

"Oh come on Rodrick, are you still in a fume over those negotiations? It's been more than a year!"

"So I am guessing that you two are already acquainted?" Leliana interrupted their scuffle.

"Yes, but now I am in control. Seeker, I will not ask again, apprehend this man immediately!" The Chancellor asked with as much of an authoritative tone as he could muster. Charles knew, however, that no Seeker would be pushed around by a puny man like Rodrick.

"Order me? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat." Cassandra snarled at the man.

"How dare you! I will have you arres-"

"We serve only Most Holy, as you well know." Leliana stepped forward to remind the Chancellor of his place.

"Served," the Chancellor corrected her, "now Most Holy is dead. As the highest ranking member of the Chantry left after the explosion, I order you to detain this man and immediately call for a retreat."

"If we leave now then who knows how many more demons will continue to spill from the Breach. No, we must close the Breach here and now, with or without your help, Chancellor." Cassandra did not yield and essentially told the highest ranking member of the Chantry to piss off.

 _Impressive, possibly suicidal, but still very impressive._ Charles thought to himself as he observed the Seeker's boldness.

"Well then, how we are going to get to the Breach is my first question." Charles spoke up from behind the three arguing Chantry members.

Leliana pointed to one of the many mountains that surrounded the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

"There is a secret path to the center of the Temple up through that mountain."

"We lost contact with an entire scouting party in there, it's too risky." Cassandra refused.

"It's probably safer than charging straight at the Breach," Charles suggested, "plus it's possible that we could encounter that lost scouting party."

"I do not remember asking you." Cassandra scoffed at his input.

"I don't remember you giving any good suggestions either." Charles shot back.

Leliana stepped in between them, "Cassandra, he's right."

Cassandra sighed and relented, "Fine, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone."

Leliana decided to stay behind when they trekked up the mountain pass, instead Cassandra came with them. She was a capable enough fighter, Charles knew that, but what he was really worried about was her temper. That and the fact in their short time together he had not done a good job of making a friend out of her.

As they entered the cavern on the face of the mountain, they were met with demons that were waiting for them. After dispatching the monsters Charles noticed that one of the cavern of the room was collapsed, opening up a hidden tunnel.

"That's not the right way." Cassandra called out from behind him as he entered the newly opened path.

Charles turned to respond, "Well the right way got an entire scouting party killed. You said it yourself, it's too risky." He quoted her as he turned on his heels back down the wrong path, "And I'm curious."

"Is this man serious?" Cassandra asked, stunned as she saw his figure disappear around a corner.

"You know curiosity killed the cat, right?" Varric yelled to him.

"And satisfaction brought it back!" Charles shot back.

Varric turned to Cassandra and shrugged his shoulders, Cassandra snorted in disgust before chased after him while Solas and Varric followed in suit.

Charles now realized that walking into this maze of tunnels without a torch was a mistake. He hadn't seen the rest of his party in quite a while. He did, however, try to communicate with them via yelling through the pitch black darkness, but he decided to save his breath after he saw a faint stream of light down the hallway. After all, only he needed to get out, only he was the one that could seal the breach. So as far as he cared the other three were… expendable. He exited from the darkness into a room with patterned walls, torches in every corner, and a single knight standing like a statue in the middle of the room in front of a door.

"Hello? Are you apart of the scouting party that was sent here?" Charles asked as he walked up to the silver-plated knight.

"I bid you welcome, pilgrim." The knight greeted him. He did not answer Charles' question, but he could tell now that this was no scout.

"Pilgrim? I am not a pilgrim, who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Are you here to attempt the Gauntlet, to see if you are worthy enough to lay your eyes upon the most holy relic in all of Thedas?"

Charles questioned his sanity for a moment, this was the Guardian that he had read stories of? The Guardian which the famous Warden met with on her quest to reach the Sacred Ashes? If so, why wasn't this part of the temple in ruins like the other parts were?

"How are you still here? Did you not feel the massive explosion that happened in the temple?"

"What happens out there is not my concern, unless the Imperium has fallen into the sea, the Urn of Sacred Ashes is in no way affected by the events of the outside world and therefore I am not affected. Now, I will ask again, have you come to see the Urn of Scared Ashes, or not?"

"Not right now, right now I need to find a way out of here. Can you help me?" Charles pled with the Spirit.

"I can. However, before you go, there is something I must ask."

"Can it wait until after I close the green hole in the sky?" Charles requested from the spirit.

"No." Was the simple response he got.

"Fine. Ask your questions and be done with it."

"What is your purpose?"

Charles frowned. "Now that's a cliché. Out of all the questions you could ask, you pick that. Sad."

"Perhaps for most people it would be." The spirit went on. "For you, however, things are different. You have done terrible things to people innocent and deserving alike, but have also shown love and kindness to so many. To understand the reasons behind these actions, some say one must look to the person's intentions to decide if they are good or evil. Yet, when I stare into your soul, Charles Trevelyan, I see no greater intent, I see no overarching goal, no final destination. To act in such a way that you have without reason or explanation, like a wild boar, with no control over your own actions and will."

"Are you done rambling?" Charles interrupted. "I have places to be, and none of them involve listening to a hallucination go on about things he knows nothing of. Well, I suppose since you could see that deep into my mind, you do know somethings. Just enough to warrant this." A spark glimmered in his eyes, as Charles suddenly reached for his sword. Swinging his blade at the spirit's feet, he hoped to disable its movement first, but before the edge of his sword cut the silver armor, his left hand lit up with the green aura again. Unlike before however, the pain of it spread throughout his entire body, causing him to drop to his right knee and lose his grip on his sword.

 _Damn it... I've taken too long to reach the breach and now the mark's hold over me is tenfold!_ He grunted as the pain settled down and control of his body returned to him. Before he could stand however a metal-clad foot stepped on his right knee, holding him down. Charles looked up and saw the slivery spirit with sword drawn hovering over him.

"Even if you hold some magical power that may help the outside world, my loyalty is not to them, but to the protection of this temple." Its longsword rose above Charles' head, like an executioner's axe over a unfortunate thief. "And you are a threat to things far greater than it!" The spirit roared, raising his sword another foot above him. Charles took this time to use his position to his advantage, stretching out his stepped-on leg to trip the spirit. Charles planted his right arm on the ground behind him, using it to turn himself around before pushing himself to his feet.

"Just in case you were wondering, that will be the last time you get the jump on me." Charles said, now standing as the guardian of the ashes stood back up as well. He then used the tip of his foot to stomp on the pommel of his sword, setting off the balance to an extent where it seemed to jump into the air and subsequently into his hand when he caught it.

The spirit took the offensive, charging at him with sword raised. Charles leapt back from a swing across his chest, but again the spirit charged at him and swung. Instead of dodging with a jump, Charles moved with the blade, turning his body until its reach faltered. When the spirit swung it back around, Charles' body was turned away from it, but his blade reached behind him and blocked the second strike.

 _Even with the most peaceful of spirits, there is always something which conflict arises out of._

* * *

 _Still cold and still demon-infested._ Charles thought as he marched up towards the path that led to the temple, exiting a systems of caves. The distant sound of a battle-cry distracted him from his path.

The shouting led him to where Cassandra, the elf, the dwarf, and what looked to be the missing scouting party were fighting a horde of demons below a rift. By the time he reached them all of the demons had already been felled. Charles raised his hand to close the rift, his mark lit up and shot a stream of green magic that connected with the rift and closed it within a matter of seconds. The group turned to him in surprise.

 _Dramatic entrances are the best entrances_ , Charles thought with a smirk.

"You!" Charles saw Cassandra's eyes light up with fury when she saw him. If not for his essential mark, he imagined that Cassandra would have tried to kill him at least twice now.

 _Not even mentioning being able to close demon-spewing holes in the sky, this mark is pretty handy. No pun intended._

"Where have you been?" Cassandra huffed as she brought herself face to face with Charles, her nose less than an inch from his.

"This kind of intimidation usually only works when you're the taller one." Charles said as he looked down on her. She wasn't shorter than him by much, but the comment was still enough to knock her ego down an inch.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Correct, because your question was irrelevant. I am here, the rift is closed, and the scouting party rescued. Now we can seal the breach, simple as that." Charles said before he turned back down the path to the breach.

Cassandra clenched her fists in anger as she saw the scouting party follow Charles down the path to the breach. Varric stopped next to her. "Calm down, we only need him till he closes the breach. Then you can have your way with him." He commented jokingly, trying to cheer her up. It didn't really cheer her up, but Cassandra hoped that he was right. It had been a long day for Cassandra, but it would soon be over. What she hoped would happen is that the prisoner would close the breach and then they would mopped up the remaining demons, but she knew it was never that simple.

 _Then what? The mages and templars will both blame each other for the destruction of the Conclave. The Chantry is without a Divine that would bring the two together in peace._ Cassandra's gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the sign of her destination: the Conclave, or what was left of it. The once ancient great temple had been reduced to ruin by the explosion. It made her feel sad, to see such a beautiful place turned into a shell of it's former self.

 _Whoever did this is going to pay_. Cassandra promised herself solemnly.

"You're here! Thank the Maker!" Cassandra heard Leliana's voice call out from behind them.

Behind Leliana marched a dozen archers and warriors, but Cassandra was not as comforted by them as she was by sight of her friend. Cassandra knew, however, that this was not the time for a friendly reunion. No, they had to seal this Breach quickly before any more horrors escaped from it.

"Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple." Cassandra ordered.

"If we can seal this rift, then we should be able to seal the breach above it." Solas explained to the prisoner.

"Charles, we need you down there now." Leliana piped in.

 _Charles? So that's his name… I suppose it's better than having to call him a prisoner while he is free. For now_.

As they trekked down the ruins of the Conclave, Varric stopped dead in his tracks.

"Maker, that's red lyrium!" Varric pointed out in horror. "We need to seal this thing and get the hell out of here, fast."

 _"Now is the hour of our victory."_ Boomed a deep voice out of nowhere. _"Bring forth the sacrifice."_

"I don't think that was from the red lyrium." Solas claimed.

"Then, what are we hearing?" Cassandra asked, her voice shaking.

"If I had to guess, the person who is responsible for the Breach." Solas answered her question, but it didn't make her feel any less uneasy.

"I couldn't make my voice that deep even if I tried." Charles stated, Cassandra rolled her eyes and ignored him.

 _"Keep the sacrifice still."_ The same voice echoed through the ruins.

 _"Someone, help me!"_ A different voice, a more feminine voice, cried out. This time it was a voice that Cassandra recognized.

"T-That is Divine Justinia's voice!" Cassandra stuttered as they raced to the rift.

As they reached the rift, Charles' hand had begun to burst with green magic.

 _"Someone, help me!"_ The Divine's voice cried out again.

Another voice spoke from the Breach, _"Excuse me, am I interrupting somethi… oh."_ The party turned and looked to the man who's voice matched that of the speaker from the breach.

"Now that's what I sound like!" Charles confirmed.

"She called out to you… Most Holy called out to you!" Cassandra exclaimed as she grabbed Charles arm. "Do you remember what happened after that?"

Before Charles could answer the Breach displayed some sort of projection of the past in front of them. Two figures, one blacken with smoke and with piercing redeyes, and the other was none other than Divine Justinia, but her arms were engulfed in some sort of magic which also held her afloat, appeared before them.

A third figure, identical to Charles, emerged out of thin air. _"Excuse me, am I interrupting somethi… oh."_

 _"Run while you can! Warn them!"_ The Divine called out to him.

 _"We have an intruder,"_ the black figure's voice boomed again, _"slay him._ " After the dark figure ordered Charles' death, the figures disappeared.

"You _were_ there! Who was that? Is the Divine alive? Did that really happen? How did you survive? What did we just see?" Cassandra demanded answers from Charles.

"I thought we had already established that I don't remember any of this, but I do know why we saw what we saw." Charles answered her, "The fade is just showing reverberations of the past."

"That is correct, but right now we must focus on the Breach." Solas broke in from behind them, "The Breach is closed, temporarily. This is why we needed you, with the mark you can open the Breach. After that we should be able to close it properly, but not without attracting… attention."

"That means demons! Archers, position yourself on that ridge! Warriors, with me!" Cassandra barked orders at her troops.

"I would prefer a shield wall, but I guess this will work. Just point and shoot, Charles." Charles mumbled to himself.

Like before, a stream of green magic flew from Charles' hand, connecting itself with the rift. The rift exploded with magic, knocking them all back. As Cassandra lifted herself up, she saw from the explosion, a pride demon had appeared.

The demon slammed his giant fist on the ground, causing a miniature earthquake that knocked the soldiers on their backs. Cassandra heard Charles called out to the archers, "Shoot for it's heel!"

The archers released a volley of arrows into one of the demon's legs, but the arrows simply bounced off what looked to be some sort of magical shield. The pride demon sent a wave of chain lightning at the archers, electrifying them until they fell dead.

"Disrupt the rift!" Solas shouted to Charles, "That is where the demon is drawing it's power from!"

"Distract it for me then!" Charles ordered as he reached to close the rift. The beam of magic shot from his hand, but the pride demon saw him, ignoring the others it began to stomp towards him. As the beast slowly moved towards him, an arrow that would of normally bounced off the demon's shield, exploded in it's face. The blast injury left a black mark over most of it's eyes, but it did not fully blind the demon. The source of the arrow was Leliana, who had not gone up on the ridge like the rest of the archers. The pride demon, enraged, ignored Charles and began marching towards Leliana. Leliana continued to shoot arrows at the demon's other eyes but they were all reflected by the demon's massive arm. Cassandra ran to her friend's defense, only to be swatted away like a fly, knocked out cold as she landed next to Charles, who was still disrupting the rift.

 _Ouch._ Charles thought to himself as he looked at the Seeker's arm as it bent in a unnatural way.

Once the demon did away with Cassandra, it grabbed Leliana's small form. Leliana screamed in pain as the demon began to crush her in it's grip. As she cried out, Charles finished disrupting the rift. Charles saw that since the rift had been disrupted, the bolts from Varric's crossbow began to pierce the demon's back and not simply bounce off, but it was not enough to release the demon's grip on Leliana.

Charles unsheathed his sword, he wrapped his index finger around the crossguard and rested the flat of the blade on the palm of his hand. Then, like a spear, he threw the sword with all of his strength. The sword flew through the air as if it were fired from a ballista until it found it's home in the demon's only remaining good eye. The pride demon howled in agony as it lost it's ability to see and dropped an unconscious Leliana to the ground.

"Varric, aim for it's heel!" Charles called to the only remaining archer on the battlefield.

The dwarf unloaded into the exposed heel of the demon, bringing the beast to a knee. Charles grabbed Cassandra's sword from the ground and charged for the stunned demon. As Charles ran, the demon raised it's fist to swipe at the oncoming warrior. Charles slid on his knees just at the right time to avoid being caught by the giant fist. The weight of the swing put the demon off balance, and the giant pride demon fell straight on his ass. Seizing the moment, Charles climbed onto the fallen demon's head and dug his sword into the head of the beast. The beast died with a sword dug in his head all the way to the hilt.

Charles looked around at the battlefield, he, Varric, and Solas were the only ones left on their feet.

"Point and shoot?" Charles asked Solas, who looked out of breath.

"Yes," the elf panted, "point and shoot."

Charles reached out to the rift once more. When the magic from his mark reached the rift, the entire breach burst with magic. Then there was darkness.


	3. One Thing

_To my brother, Marcus Francis Trevelyan, Teyrn of Ostwick - Marcus, I suspect by now that you have heard of the news regarding the Conclave and its destruction. I am, however, alive and well, relatively speaking. I have only been awake for a short time. I think I am in Haven, but I can't say for sure. They do not know that I've awoken, but I wanted you to get this letter as soon as possible to know that I am alive, and I will return shortly. - Charles_

Charles read over the letter in his head again. This letter could be pointless, Marcus could already have been informed that his brother was the number one suspect behind the murder of the Divine.

 _Maybe he'll actually pull through on his threats to exile me this time, but probably not._ He thought, he knew his brother wasn't the sharpest sword but something made him doubt he would exile the man who still had the support of every soldier in his city.

 _But they might not be so keen on taking orders from the supposed murderer of the Divine…_

"You're awake!"

A shriek distracted him from his thoughts of Ostwick's politics and his family. Charles turned his head to see an elf dressed in servant's clothes in the doorway of his cabin.

"Very observant! Maybe next you'll notice that I'm human." Charles mocked the elf as he stood up from his chair and hid the letter in his pocket.

As he stood up from his chair the petite elf turned to open the door, "I-I have to tell the Seeker!" Charles thought about stopping her but before he could act the elf was out of reach and out of sight.

 _Guess there's no point in staying then._ The day-light burned into his eyes as Charles caught the door before it closed.

He looked around and saw that he was right, he was in Haven. Not that he was surprised, he didn't expect any of them to march his unconscious body to anywhere pleasant and not freezing cold.

"Do you by any chance, know where the Lady-Seeker is?" Charles asked a random bypassing soldier.

"Last I heard she was up in the Chantry arguing with that Rodrick fellow. Why do you ask? And why were you in the Herald's room?"

 _Herald?_ Charles thought in confusion. _A Herald for what? Herald of big green holes in the sky?_

"Aye, I'm talking to you!" The soldier snapped him out of his thoughts.

"The Herald has just awoken from his rest and I am to inform the Seeker of this."

"The Herald is awake? Oh Maker, he's finally awake, I have to tell everyone!"

Charles looked at the man in confusion as he ran away. Shouting out, "The Herald's awake!" as he did.

 _Murderer of the holiest person on Thedas to Herald, and all I had to do was throw some swords and point at some rifts._ Charles chuckled as he walked towards the Chantry.

As he entered the Chantry, Charles could hear yelling and arguing. It didn't take long for him to recognize it was Cassandra and Rodrick who were shaking the walls with their shouting. Charles knocked on the door, suddenly the arguing stopped. Charles placed his hands behind his back in a professional manner.

The door opened and it was a familiar black-haired Seeker that greeted him, "Ah, it's you. Come in."

Once inside, Charles was greeted by Leliana with a simple look in his direction.

"Chain him! I want him prepared to travel to the capital for trial."

Rodrick also decided to say hello in his own special way.

"Disregard that, leave us." Cassandra ordered the two templars in the room.

"Cassandra, I do not think you understand the threat that this man poses." Rodrick protested, grinding his teeth in anger.

"The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. We also face a much greater threat." Cassandra said obscurely.

Leliana interjected. "Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Whoever that was is our real threat."

"We still have only one suspect, him!" Rodrick pointed to Charles, who in turn rolled his eyes at the annoyingly persistent Chancellor.

"It cannot be him," Charles was surprised to see Cassandra of all people sticking her neck out for him, "the Divine called out to him for help. I heard it."

"So am I to think that his survival and that mark, all coincidence?" The chancellor badgered the Seeker.

"No, this was no coincidence, this was providence. In our darkest hours, the Maker has sent us a savior."

"You believe this man to be our savior? Seeker, I cannot stress enough how huge of a mistake you are making." Rodrick grimaced at the thought of Charles being anything more than a criminal and a warmonger. At this, Charles was not surprised. After all, Rodrick was the one who the Chantry sent to try and negotiate a peace deal between Ostwick and the other Free Marcher states, and the one who Charles had immediately kicked to the curb after he arrived.

"He is the Herald of Andraste. He was what we needed, when we needed it. That is proof enough for me."

"This is insanity!" Rodrick decried, throwing his hands above his head. "Neither of you ignorant women have any idea what danger you are putting the Chantry, yourselves, and everyone else in if you give this animal even the title alone of something like that. Have you not heard the stories from the Free Marches?!"

"Yes, I have." Cassandra retorted. "However, whether those are only rumors or have some truth to them, I know this for a fact: Most Holy called out for him. When she was in danger, she saw him, looked into his eyes, and trusted him to help her. I will give him the same chance."

"And how are you so sure this was not simply her reacting quickly under a stressful situation?" Rodrick's reply was cynical, but realistic. "How do we even know if what you saw down there was what actually happened and not some illusion?"

"I do not know for sure, yes, that is true. However, I am one of the faithful. I had faith in Most Holy, and I will have faith in this new cause as well."

Rodrick snorted. "What cause?"

Cassandra ignored him and turned to grab a thick book from the shelf behind her. "Do you know what this is?" She asked as the book was slammed on the table in front of her. "A writ. The Divine's writ. This will grant us the authority to act, authority over you. As of this moment, the Inquisition is reborn. We will destroy the Breach for good, we will find the Divine's murderer, and we will restore order. With or without your help." While Cassandra's speech was inspiring, Charles did have several questions.

 _Didn't I close the Breach? What does she mean by "restore order"? Do we really need an inquisition to do this_? Charles asked himself.

 _Does any of that matter? Look at what's being given to you! The ancient Inquisition reborn, with you as its leader, as the Herald of Andraste! All of it will be your_ _s!_

 _Hmm. True._

While he weighed his options in his head, Rodrick stormed out the room in anger.

"This will not be an easy task, to re-build the Inquisition of old." Leliana spoke in. "We are not supported by the Chantry, we have no allies, our numbers are dismal, we have a very small amount of money, and we have no leader." She turned her red-haired and purple-hooded head to Charles. "What are you going to do? Will you join us?"

"Of course, I would be honored to help you." Charles answered with a smile on his face, but a serious tone laced in with his words. "But for now, I have some letters to write, some strings to pull, and hopefully I can get us some allies, money, and soldiers."

"Leliana, find Cullen and Josephine. They should know what we've done." Cassandra told Leliana, who in turn left the room afterwards.

Charles looked around for something to write with as he pulled up a chair to sit.

 _To my brother, Marcus Francis Trevelyan, Teyrn of Ostwick - Marcus, by the time this letter reaches you, you have probably already heard the news. The Conclave was destroyed, demons began to fall from the sky, I am considered a murderer by some and holy by others, and as of now, the ancient Inquisition is reborn. This inquisition will need allies, that is where I need your assistance. Having the most powerful state in the Eastern Free Marches allied to us would mean a great deal, and negation of such an alliance would be ill-fated for both the Inquisition and our home. Consider these words carefully, Brother. - Charles_

As Charles finished writing his letter, he could feel the eyes of the Seeker looking over his shoulder.

"I am trying to get us some allies, I thought my home, Ostwick, would be a good place to start." Charles explained, not looking up from his letter.

"Good idea. The Teyrn would not reject a request from the city's Champion, especially if said Champion is his brother." Cassandra complimented, but Charles was not so sure of his brother's loyalty.

"I see that you've read up on me. Flattering as it is, you're wrong. If there is one thing you should know about the Trevelyan family, it's that we are anything but a family."

 _Not anymore at least._

"Ah, that is... I am sorry to hear that."

"We don't hate each other. It's just that we all have conflicting interests and that leads to, well... conflict. A rather common theme in this world, don't you agree?"

Cassandra nodded her head and then went on. "How do you plan to make him an ally?"

"If he rejects this offer?" Charles held up the letter. "I'll make him another offer; an offer he simply cannot refuse."

A knock on the door interrupted his and Cassandra's conversation.

"The door is open." Charles said as he stood up from his chair.

Led by Leliana, two figures that Charles did not recognize entered the room.

"This is Josephine, This is Cullen. Cullen and Josephine, meet Charles, the Herald of Andraste." Leliana introduced the two strangers to Charles.

"Charles, we've met before, at the Montilyet Ball. Do you remember?" Josephine asked.

"I don't remember any of it actually, but what I was told was enough to make me quit drinking."

"You certainly had… character." Josephine giggled as Charles put his face in his hands.

"Yes, Josephine, I was told as much."

"I am Cullen," the blond one interrupted them, "I've heard stories of your leading role of Ostwick in The War of Five. It will be an honor to serve with you."

"An admirer then? Well, nice to meet you too, Cullen."

"If you three are acquainted, then we should get down to business." Leliana chimed in, "I brought you all here so that we could assign roles for the Inquisition, as one cannot have all the power, we shall divide responsibility."

Charles sighed, but none of them noticed.

"Josephine, you will act as the Inquisition's diplomat. Cullen, you will lead the army. I will work as the spymaster for the Inquisition. Cassandra, you will be tasked with guarding the Herald at all times. Charles, you will have to close the Breach and any remaining rifts, but you already knew that. Are there any objections?"

A single arm rose above all in the room.

"Yes, Charles?" Leliana asked the arm's owner.

Charles allowed his arm to gently fall back down to his side, and slowly stalked up to the war table.

"I have no objection to any of the roles and placements, rather, I wish to expand upon a role. My role." His eyes bore an intensity seemed to burn a hole through the table, melting the map of the world. "While it is not universally believed yet, the status of Andraste's Herald is not one taken lightly, especially when standing upon the support of a new inquisition. Practically, it would be a waste to let-"

"No!"

A fist, clad in black leather, slammed the table.

"I will not allow for a position as sacred as your's to be used for political gains!" Cassandra fumed, a visible fury engulfing her features as she looked at Charles.

Charles tilted his head at her, as if observing a rare phenomenon of nature, before closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"You do not seem to realize the gravity of what has gone these last few days, and why we cannot afford to lose any edge we may have."

Cassandra's fist clenched, catching the world map in its grasp and crumbling part of it.

"But don't worry, I plan on informing all of you of the reality of what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen." Charles said before Cassandra's anger took form vocally.

The light in the room began to fade as the sun set.

"Someone out there has a plan. For this plan to succeed, they have killed the Divine, the person who is the head the religion of most of Thedas. The religion out of which our world, Thedas, draws its morality; its values and beliefs, its rights and its wrongs, its truths and its falsehoods. This someone has killed the one person who is the closest to being a physical embodiment of all that we hold sacred. This someone has no interest in a world where all of the things I mentioned before to be associated with religion are by the Chantry's teachings."

The sun, lowering below the mountain tops that surrounded Haven, took away from them light, leaving only the few candles around them to brighten their surroundings.

"There is a war happening as we speak. As is such in most circumstances of our times. However, the templars and mages fight not over resources or wealth, but for an ideal. A world changing ideal, with each of them seeking to claim dominion over the land for their own ideal, their vision, their dream. And for that dream to become reality, the dream that opposes them must be eradicated. In this world, light cannot exist without shadow. For one's world to be perfect, another's must be ruined. The triumphant cannot exist without the defeated."

With night almost upon them, the soft hue of pink and orange that came with the sunset sky began to fade to darkness.

"But I disgress, I tell you this because of how similar it is the situation that we now face. Certainly, if the mages were to be victorious in this war, the bards of the future would not sing their enemies' stories in favourable light, and the opposite case with templars winning would hold true as well."

"What are you getting at?" Cullen spoke up.

"From this moment on, you must understand one thing." Charles turned to the window. Looking out, he saw a hawk climb the cold winds and make its way into the fleeing sun between the mountain range.

"If we find the Divine's murderer and stop their plan, then they will be evil. If they are not defeated and their plan succeeds, then they will be righteous."


	4. Chosen, but for What?

Charles had taken to staying in the cabin that stood outside the walls of Haven. It was relatively isolated from the rest of Haven, that's what he liked about it, but the isolation did not stop him from having talk with others.

 _Are you lonely?_

 _No. Why would I be?_

 _Well, you don't really have any friends here, do you?_

 _That Varric fellow seemed to like me. I could make plenty of friends if I tried, it's just something I don't have the time for._

 _Wow, So that's how you justify being lonely? Not having enough time for friends? Poor excuse if you ask me, you could be in the Tavern right now, talking up some fancy lady._

 _I don't like Taverns, they are loud and smell like piss. In fact, there probably is piss in that poison they serve._

 _Excuse after excuse... is it just because you are afraid that they are going to find out how much of a bore you are?_

 _Nope._

 _Then what are you afraid of?_

 _The fact of the matter is, if I didn't have this mark, they would've thrown me to the wolves long ago. My ability to close the Breach and the rifts, that is what matters to them. They couldn't care less about the person who holds the mark in their hand. These are the kind of people that have interests, not friends._

 _That's rather pessimistic, I think you're just mixing political dogma with everyday life._

 _I never saw any good reason to separate the two._

 _Maker, you definitely need to get out more._

 _Still, I am not lonely. I am connected to everyone through my emotions. The emotion I feel has been felt before at some point. My feelings and state of mind can connect me to the most foreign people._

 _So you've even come up with a philosophy to justify being lonely._

 _Yep._

A knocking on his cabin door distracted him from the argument that went on in his head.

"Who is it?" Charles asked without getting up from his desk.

"Leliana, may I come in?" The person behind the door answered.

"What do you want?" Charles asked. He didn't have a problem with Leliana, she was actually one of the better personalities he found in the Inquisition, but he'd rather just be left alone.

"I just want to talk." She said from the other side of the door.

"We are talking right now."

"Charles, please." Leliana pleaded, Charles sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine," Charles got up from his desk to open the door for the spymaster, "what is it?"

"May I come in?" Leliana asked again, Charles could tell from her tone that her patience was thinning.

"Uh... sure, pull up a chair." Charles held the door for her as she entered. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"I wanted to thank you." Leliana said as she sat herself down.

"Thank me? for what?" Charles questioned as he pulled up a chair of his own.

"You didn't have to stay with the Inquisition, you could of gone home to Ostwick, and I would've understood if you had, but you didn't." She looked down at her lap, away from him. "And... and I thank you for that."

"You're right, I could have left. It probably would have made more sense to leave, but to abandon the Inquisition, to abandon all those people who called me Herald and had hope in me, I couldn't do that. That wouldn't have been right." Charles explained to Leliana.

 _Morals? you still have those? Or are you just saying what she wants to hear?_ The voice in his head ridiculed him. Charles did not answer it.

"I think you made the right choice," Leliana smiled as she looked back up at him, "but there is something else that I wanted to thank you for. While we were fighting that pride demon, I messed up and the demon managed to grab me. While the demon crushed me in its hand, I thought that I was gone for sure, but... but you made sure that didn't happen."

"Ah, that was nothing. I wasn't just going to let you die. What kind of Herald would I be if I let the fair maiden be killed by the beast?" Charles said, brushing her thanks off with humor. Leliana laughed momentarily, but her mood turned solemn suddenly as she shifted in her chair.

"You do believe that you are truly the Herald of Andraste, right?" She asked Charles.

"Yes, I believe that. What of it?"

"Then why the destruction, why the death, is that the will of the Maker? Is this part of his plan?" Leliana asked, her face losing any trace of laughter.

 _So this is the real reason she wanted to talk to me..._

"What? Of course not, the men who destroyed the Conclave are no followers of the Maker. They are in direct opposition to his will." Charles answered, he was surprised that the faithful Left Hand of the Divine had such unorthodox thoughts of the Maker.

"The Chantry says that the Maker abandoned us, that we must repent to seek his forgiveness. Justinia gave him everything and what did she get in return? Death." Leliana countered, the tone of her voice rising in anger at his theology.

"I think her death should be blamed on whoever killed her, not the Maker." Charles hoped he could talk some sense into Leliana.

"If the Maker would not interfere to save his most faithful, what good is he? I use to think I was chosen, as you are, and that I was serving the Maker with my work as the Left Hand of the Divine, but now she is dead. All that time I served the Maker, all for nothing." Leliana finished with the emotion ever-growing in her blue eyes.

Charles stayed quiet for a moment, thinking of how he could play this situation to fit his own interests the best.

"Leliana, I want to show you something." He took her hand and led her outside. Once outside of the small cabin, Charles pointed towards the giant green hole in the sky. "What is that?"

"That's the Breach... why are you asking me this?" Leliana questioned as she looked at the Breach.

"That is proof that you are indeed chosen." Charles answered simply.

"Explain. Now." Leliana crossed her arms, her voice shook as she did. The emotions within her had slowly began to shift.

"You have been chosen to serve an even holier cause than the Divine," Charles knew what he was saying bordered on heresy in her eyes, but he still continued none the less "you have been chosen to help free Thedas from chaos, you've been chosen to serve the Inquisition. You are chosen, do not doubt that."

"You can still be a hero, Leliana."

"And for me to be that Justinia had to die? Is that the price I must pay?" Leliana looked at him as her anger shifted to sorrow as tears began to swell in her eyes.

 _Oh look, you made her cry. Smooth._

"Leliana, I understand that you are in pain. You aren't the only one who's lost someone close to them. Oh, the people I'd bring back if I could turn back time," Charles sighed at the memories that washed over him of those that were no longer with him, "but you are different than I, you can make sure her death is not in vain. What you're doing now, working with the Inquisition, Justinia would be proud."

"But why did she have to die? We were going to bring peace, if she was still alive there would be no need for the Inquisition!" Leliana lamented as the tears began to fall from her eyes.

"We are going to bring peace, but you have to understand, Leliana, everything is always passing away. Nothing that is now will ever be here again, but Justinia was one of those people that left their mark upon the living. Through leaving such a mark, one can be remembered to the world forever, she will live forever in the hearts of people like you, people that loved her. A tyrant is remembered as a beast, but she will forever be remembered as an icon, an everlasting icon. An icon of love, peace, and hope." Charles spoke as he stared into Leliana's tear filled blue eyes, it was just now that he realized that they shared the same eye color, blue. But hers were a deep ocean blue, even when she was crying, they looked so full of life. To him, they were stunning, he felt captivated by the sight of them. Maybe it was because her deep blue eyes, so full of emotion and passion, held everything that his cold icy eyes were absent of. Even through he shrouded them to be otherwise at times.

"Is that what we should try to do, as an Inquisition?" Leliana asked Charles through her tears.

Charles wiped away the tears on her red cheeks with his thumb, "No, not try, we will do."

"That... that is something I can get behind," Leliana began to gather herself, "Charles, I can't say how much this means to-"

Charles raised his hand to quiet her, "Don't mention it, just dry those pretty eyes of yours for me. There's still much to be done, lots of inquisiting and inquiring."

"Yes," Leliana briefly chuckled, "I'll get right on that." Leliana smiled as she walked off, leaving Charles to his own devices.

 _That was… interesting._

 _You could say that again, you've been apart of this Inquisition for what, a week? And people are already dumping their personal issues on you._

 _I'm on better terms with her than I was before, that's good enough for me._

 _Is that really all you got from that exchange?_

 _I've known her for less than a month, besides, I doubt I'll be able to get that close that soon._

 _Even when you succeed you still manage to disappoint. You need to spend less time thinking politics and more time growing at least a small amount of social skills._

 _I need social skills!? Did you see that Charisma back there?!_

 _Maybe, but do you even believe that "peace, love, and hope" crap?_

 _Does it matter if I do? Makes for good rhetoric._

 _Wow, that's cold._

 _Life is cold. How are you even here? Aren't you supposed to be an imaginary figure that I can will away at any moment? Shoo._

 _Now that I think about it, I probably manifested from one of your mental issues. Maybe a mix of schizophrenia and multi-personality disorder? Or it could just be you want someone to talk to._

 _Since when did I have mental issues!?_

 _Is that even a serious question? You're literally a sociopath._

 _I have enough on my plate so I really don't have room for another idiotic voice in my head._

 _Idiotic?! Oh go start another war or something, you stupid shit. Why don't you try to conquer yourself a woman for once in your life?_

 _Actually, I did want to talk to Cassandra, but not exactly for the reasons you'd like._

 _What are you going to do then?_

 _Same thing I did with Leliana._

 _And that is?_

 _Try to get on her good side. I'm going to have to work with these people for awhile, it's better to make them allies then enemies._

 _What ever happened to "oh these people do not have friends, only interests"?_

 _Nothing. Only now it seems that their interest is having some figure in their life to tell them that everything is ok._

 _Well I'm pretty sure the Seeker doesn't have the highest opinion of you, you didn't really treat her with much respect after you awoke from the Conclave._

 _All the more reason that I should be persistent in gaining her favor._

Charles looked around the camp for Cassandra, eventually finding her practicing her swordplay. She struck the wooden target furiously with greater force each time her sword bounced back. Charles coughed to make his presence known. "Excuse me, Cassandra?"

"What do you want?" Cassandra turned to him with impatience in her voice.

"I just wanted to apologize." Charles answered her.

"Apologize, For what?" She asked as she sheathed her sword, impatience chancing to a more suspicious tone.

"Before we closed the Breach, I was less than polite to you. For this, I apologize and wanted to ask, is there anything that I could do to make up for my rudeness?" Charles finished, he saw the impatience disappear from her eyes and become replaced with confusion as her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I-I am grateful you thought to apologize, but it is rather unnecessary." Cassandra stuttered as she spoke. "You have done enough already."

"Awww Cassandra, you're going to make me blush," Charles laughed, "but I insist... how about a friendly duel?" Before Cassandra could respond, he grabbed a sword from one of the near by wooden bins. "What do you say?"

Cassandra took a moment, looking back and forth from the target she was hitting before and him. "I suppose there would be nothing wrong with a little competition." She answered with a hint of a smile on her face. Charles smiled back as they both walked towards an open area outside of the walls of Haven that offered enough space for both of them to move.

 _Are you sure you're not going to get your ass kicked?_

 _Are you kidding me?_ Charles prepared his stance across from Cassandra, who then gathered her own. _I_ _am absolutely sure._

The two of them drew their swords. For a friendly duel, the air around them was thick with tension. Cassandra broke the tension by charging with sword raised. Charles raised his blade to catch the blow, their swords clashed into a clench mid-air. With their swords crossed, Charles brought his free hand underneath their swords. He grabbed the pommel of Cassandra's sword and twisted said pommel which in turn caused her wrist to twist with it. With the Seeker caught off guard and recoiling from the sudden pain, Charles was able to snatch the sword right out of Cassandra's hand with his grip on the pommel.

"Your hand is very important, don't leave it open like that." Charles instructed as he handed an embarrassed Cassandra back her sword.

"I did not know we were playing dirty." Cassandra demurred as she took her stance again.

"Dirty?" Charles perplexed before chuckling softly. "I merely do what is necessary to win, Cassandra."

"A necessary evil then?"

"If it's necessary, then how could it purely be evil?" Charles responded to Cassandra as he took his own battle-stance. "Round two?" By now, a crowd had formed around them to see the Seeker and the Herald face off.

After they took up positions again, Cassandra took initiative once more as began to move forwards, but this time she thrust her sword at Charles. Catching her sword with his own, Charles slid his blade down hers, bringing them face to face. Using his footwork, Charles turned the edge of his sword so that it landed softly on the side of Cassandra's head.

"Under normal circumstances, that would have hit a lot harder." Charles stated as he lifted his sword from her head and stepped back. "How about three to five?"

"Damn it!" Cassandra cursed as they took five steps back to start again. "Maker, I usually am better than this, I swear. I don't know what's gotten into me."

"You're angry." Charles said plainly. "I don't know why, but you don't do a good job at hiding it. Naturally, being angry makes you aggressive." He took his stance. "When you leave your emotions out in the open like that, people are bound to take advantage."

"I _do not_ leave my emotions in the open." Cassandra frowned as she took a stance of her own.

 _Must've of hit a nerve with that comment. Guess the truth hurts._

Instead of charging him, Cassandra began to step to the left. In response, Charles stepped right and the two warriors began to circle each other. Charles dropped his blade down then cut upward diagonally before bringing the blade down again and repeating the process crossing again and again, speeding up until it looked as if his sword spun like a top from side to side. Cassandra held her sword close as she stopped in her tracks, Charles mimicked her halt, still spinning his sword. The moment was one of absolute tension between the two warriors.

 _Now you're just showing off._

 _I think when about half of the Inquisition is watching me, showing off is perfectly justified._

 _Why's that? So they respect you?_

 _I don't need them to respect, just to fear. That is all. Humiliating their 'big, strong Seeker' is a good place to start._ Charles thought as Cassandra broke her stance and charged him.

 _Humiliate her? In front of her soldiers? Have you no pity?_

 _Pity? Pity is a waste_. Charles stated as he rolled to the side, avoiding the Seeker's charge.

 _What do you mean?_

 _Let me be more specific,_ Charles brought his sword to slice across Cassandra's back, but sword clashed with sword as Cassandra spun on her heel to block him, _pity is a waste of feeling. Pity is when the suffering we see infects us. That is what pity is best described as: an infection._

 _Surely you must have some pity._

 _My "pity" comes whenever I feel as if I am in the presence of wasted potential._ Using her strength to overwhelm Charles' grip on his sword, Cassandra disarmed him. His sword launched into the air, eventually landing behind Cassandra.

 _What do you mean by wasted potential?_

 _Wasted potential like this Seeker. So strong in her bravery and faith, but she wasted her abilities working for that fool of a Divine._ Cassandra, thinking the duel was over with Charles being disarmed, tried to poke Charles with her sword to signify her victory. Charles responded by quickly grabbing the blade, carefully pressing his palm and wrapping his fingers around the blade's flat part as to not cut himself. Before Cassandra could react, Charles snatched the sword from her. _However, I will personally make sure she achieves that potential._

"Herald!" A voice calling his name snapped him back into reality.

Cullen broke through the crowd of people that surrounded him. "We need you and Cassandra in the war room, now."

"We'll finish this duel later, Cassandra." Charles promised her as they walked to the war room. As they entered the room, he saw the spymaster and the diplomat waiting for them.

"We've received several important letters, but we brought you all here for two letters in particular." Josephine began formally. "The first comes from a Chantry Mother named Giselle, she wishes to speak to you at the hinterlands near Redcliffe. She may be our only chance to improve our relationship with the Chantry."

"And the other letter?" Charles asked.

"A response, from the Teyrn of Ostwick, your brother."

"What does my dear brother have to say then?"

"Your brother has... exiled you from Ostwick. I'm sorry." Josephine answered sympathetically.

"Bold of him." To the surprise of every person in that room excluding Charles himself, he showed little to no emotional distraught at this news. Almost as if he had been preparing for it. "Josephine, hand me that letter." He ordered her with a solemn tone.

"Exile? Why not just declare him a heretic as the Chantry has?" Cassandra asked as Charles skimped through the letter.

"Because I technically still am in command of Ostwick's standing army, the Caroleans, and if he did declare me a heretic all those under my command would also be considered heretics for following me. To rid me of my leading position, Marcus would need to undergo a formal ceremony with me present. It would seem his goal is keeping me out of Ostwick." Charles stated as he handed the letter back to Josephine.

"Would the Caroleans stay loyal to a heretic?" Cullen asked skeptically.

"Those brave souls would follow me into the deepest depths of the Deep Roads unarmed and naked if I asked as much." Charles answered soberly to the commander.

"I don't know," Cullen replied, "sounds like a whole lot of impractical political jargon."

"That's fine, that's why you're the commander, and not the diplomat." Charles started, and Cullen did not know whether it was meant as an insult or a compliment. "First I'll travel to the Hinterlands, talk to that Giselle woman, then head north to Ostwick." The Herald told them as he turned to leave.

"Have you already forgotten about your exile? You won't be going to Ostwick anytime soon." Cassandra said from behind him.

Charles sighed and turned from the door to face the heads of the Inquisition. "I was not the only Trevelyan at the Conclave, my Uncle went as well. I will have to be there for his funeral and the reading of his will, exiled or not, it is part of Ostwick tradition. Marcus knows that, and must hope that I've forgotten."

"What will you accomplish by going to Ostwick?" Leliana interrupted Charles as he again turned around to leave, speaking up for the first time since he had entered the room. "If you are only staying for the funeral and the will reading, what good does that do the Inquisition?"

"Let's just say that the Free Marches will be much more... cooperative with the Inquisition after I'm done with them." Charles replied, not turning around to address them as he left the war room, leaving

* * *

Charles was a strange one, that Cassandra was sure of.

She could tell he was a clever one as well, but to what extent she could not . She would often see him staring off into space, making her curious as to what went on in that head of his; and, when he wasn't staring into space, he locked himself in that cabin, doing maker knows what.

"What do you mean we don't have any horses!?"

And then there was his more… sensitive side.

"We have hay, we have saddles, we even have a stupid little wooden fence which the horses could jump over at anytime, but we have no horses?!"

Said sensitive side was currently yelling at the Inquisition's blacksmith. The blacksmith didn't exactly have any control over the horse supply, but he was right next to the stables which must of made him the authority on the matter in Charles' mind.

"Alright, change of plans: we're walking." Charles addressed her, Solas, and Varric after taking a deep breath and counting back from ten.

"Can't we just order a chariot ride or something?" Varric complained.

"Trust me, I would of gotten one by now if I could. We are not delaying our schedule for a chariot ride that could take another week to get here." Charles replied. "At least we'll be getting some exercise, sitting at Haven for a week hasn't done my body any good."

"Come on," Cassandra interrupted them and gestured to the path that led out of the snowy town of Haven, "we are wasting time."

"Fine," Varric relented, "we always have to struggle for it, can't just take the easy route."

"Varric, if you aren't prepared to struggle then I suggest you leave now, we have a great deal of road to travel." Charles said to the dwarf.

 _True enough._ Cassandra thought as she led them through the mountain pass that led out of Haven.


	5. Serpent

The Scourge of the Free Marches, Prince of War, The Butcher of the East, Cullen had heard before of the many terrible titles of Charles Trevelyan. None of them seemed to be fitting for a Herald of Andraste, he knew that if the Inquisition was to be seen as a force of good in the world, a reputation like that would not be tolerated. But before any wrongs were righted in Charles' past, Cullen would have to understand how exactly the man had gained such a reputation, he seemed pleasant enough of a person to Cullen in the short time he had known him. The official reports of the War of Five, or as some liked to call it, 'The Free Marcher Civil War', the war that made the name Charles Trevelyan spoken with praise and respect in some places and hatred and contempt in others, that seemed like a good place to start. However, to Cullen's disappointment and frustration, the reports that Josephine had gathered simply painted the four defeated city-states as power-hungry warmongers and Ostwick as defending herself against tyrants. Cullen knew that this was not what had happen, or at least that it was not as simple as that, but to what extent did the official reports lie? The report itself barely mentioned any details of the terms of surrender, of the battles fought, and of the cause of the war beyond saying that Ostwick was completely innocent of any charges. Cullen thought that if they were to be working together for an extended period of time, it would only make sense for him to know more. He also was very interested to find out how in the world a single city-state was able to defeat more than half of the other city-states in the Free Marcher confederation.

That was why he was currently walking towards the cabin which the Herald had claimed for himself after he had awoken. Charles had locked himself in that cabin the majority of his stay at Haven, Cullen thought that logically then, he must have been doing something in there to occupy himself, what Cullen really hoped for was that Charles had left some kind of journal behind.

As he exited the walls of Haven and turned down the dirt path to Charles' cabin, his eyes landed on a familiar red-headed Spymaster crouched on one knee in front of the door to the cabin.

"Leliana, what are you doing here?" Cullen called out as he sped up his walk towards the cabin.

Leliana was caught off guard by Cullen's voice and lost balance on her knee, but Cullen managed to catch her by the arm before she fell over into the snow, "Thank you, Commander, you surprised me." Leliana said as he helped her stand up.

"You're welcome, but what are you doing out here?" Cullen asked again.

"I wanted to make sure that this cabin was safe, there could be demons or bandits hiding in there." Leliana explained, placing her hands behind her back as she did.

"You do know that this is the cabin that the Herald stayed in, right? And what's that behind your back?" Cullen questioned Leliana.

"The door was locked, Charles must've taken the key with him, so I brought a pick with me," Leliana opened her palm to show Cullen a lockpick, "and no, I did not know that Charles had stayed in this cabin."

"Is that so? Josephine told me otherwise," Cullen pointed out to her, "she said you had made several trips to visit the Herald after he awoke. It wouldn't surprise me if she was right, considering that you two seem to be on a first-name basis now."

Leliana sighed, she had been caught red-handed in her lie. "Ok, alright, fine, I wasn't here to check for demons."

"Then why are you trying to get into the Herald's cabin?" Cullen asked again, any patience he had before now absent.

"Why don't you tell me why you are here first?" Leliana retaliated.

"I asked first!" Cullen argued, raising his voice as he did.

"How about this," Leliana spoke as she crossed her arms, "since neither of us wish to explain our motives for being here, we both go into the Cabin, find what we want, if it's in there, and then leave as if we never saw each other."

"Fine, if you want to make it complicated, it'll be complicated." Cullen conceded, rolling his eyes in annoyance as Leliana returned to picking the lock to Charles' cabin.

After Leliana finished with the lock, both of them entered into the small cabin and began searching for what they desired. Cullen could tell that Leliana was familiar with the layout of the cabin as she immediately began digging through the desk to the right of the door while he looked around for something that could possibly contain any information about the Herald. The cabin was surprisingly empty, there was a bed, a desk, a few chairs, and a candle, not much else besides a filled bookshelf.

 _Guess I might as well start there._ Cullen thought to himself as he walked over towards the bookshelf. He noticed, as he read over the titles of the books, that these were not books that a normal villager would have owned, these were books you would expect to see in a nobles library, these were Charles' books.

 _But how did they get here?_ Cullen thought as he skimmed through the different books. He looked at one in particular, a book called, **The Past and Future of the Free Marches**. As he pulled the book from its place on the shelf, he also noticed the name under the title, the authors name, **Charles Leopold Trevelyan**.

 _Jackpot._ At this point he really didn't care how the books got here, this would certainly give him an insight to what happened during the War of Five, or at least that is what he hoped, and an insight to what Charles thought of the Free Marches, his home. Before he could look through the rest of the books, Cullen felt a finger tap on his back. He turned to see Leliana, who had her eyes fixated on the book in his hand.

"What's that?" Leliana asked, not moving her eyes away from the book.

"It's a book," Cullen replied, "a book that I am taking with me."

"What's it called?" Leliana continued to question him.

"The Past and Future of the Free Marches, it sounds interesting." Cullen showed her the cover while trying to keep his finger over the authors name.

As Leliana's eyes looked over the books title, Cullen backed up to the door of the cabin. After Leliana read the title and turned back to going through the desk, Cullen swiftly turned around to leave with book the in hand.

* * *

 _Damn it, nothing._ Leliana thought as she slammed the drawer to the desk close. She had been in the cabin before, Charles always had something on this desk, some paper or book, but there was absolutely nothing on or in his desk now. Although she did find the same crystal necklace that Charles had when they found him unconscious after the destruction of the Conclave. Thinking that he must of left it behind on accident, Leliana placed the necklace in a pouch on her belt, in hopes of return it to him later.

She then thought of Cullen's book, _the bookshelf?_ Leliana always thought that the bookshelf was just filled with books that the previous owner of the cabin left behind, but maybe there was something more. The books were now disorganized after Cullen tore through the shelf, he didn't bother putting them back, some laid on their side, others were tossed on the floor. While placing them back and looking for anything that stood out as she did, one book drew her attention. **Restoring and Reforming the Chantry** , Leliana's heart froze when she read over the authors name, **Charles Leopold Trevelyan**.

As soon as she saw his name, Leliana felt a multitude of different emotions wash over her, but for the most part, she felt intrigued. She had come to this cabin in hopes of being able to learn more about Charles. Despite having become such a big name in the last couple of years, he managed to stay a mysterious figure in the eyes of most people who did not live in the Free Marches. The original information that Josephine had gathered about Charles, in all actuality, only told them little about the man they were working with. Most of the documents they gathered were filled with more propaganda than solid information. Charles had hidden his past well, but the spymaster had dealt with figures more illusive than him before, and would not be outmatched now. It would also certainly be interesting to see what Andraste's chosen had to say about the Chantry and reforming it. Hopefully from his thoughts on the Chantry, Leliana would be able to understand Charles better.

 _For purely professional reasons of course. Maker, I really don't need any more lecturing from Josephine on that subject._ Leliana remembered when she first told Josephine of her and Charles talk in his cabin.

 _"Men like Charles are not the type that you go to for emotional comfort."_ Josephine told her, Leliana clenched the sides of the book in anger at the memory of how their conversation went down hill quickly after that.

"There was absolutely nothing wrong with what I did," Leliana quietly ranted to herself, "it's not like I'm using him as a therapist or something like that. It was a simple, one time thing where I needed support and he was there to help, nothing more than that."

 _You are using him, however_. A voice, seemingly out of nowhere, spoke to Leliana, who in turn quickly pulled a dagger from her belt.

"Who is there!?" Leliana called out, "Come out where I can see you!"

 _I am a… friend of Charles, I have been watching you and your Inquisition for awhile now._ The mysterious voice continued.

"Where are you? What are you talking about?" Leliana asked, maybe there were some demons in Charles' cabin after all.

 _I have no need to tell you where I am, and as for what I mean, you should know I am merely speaking from the perspective of our dear Charles._

"I don't understand, what are you talking about?" Leliana continued to question.

 _You see, our dear Charles is an… inquisitive one, perhaps too inquisitive for his own good, pun totally intended by the way._ The voice chuckled to itself, but Leliana seemed to lack his sense of humor. _He believes that the Inquisition values him a great deal, but not for his 'virtuous' behavior, but for his mark._ The voice explained to Leliana, _That mark which could have been placed on any human, elf, dwarf, or even a qunari, that mark which was not earned by him, but given to him by fortune. Charles does not believe in fortune, or at least he wishes it didn't exist._

"What does Charles believe in then?" Leliana felt it was strange that the man who was chosen by the Maker disliked fortune.

 _Charles believes in Charles. He wants to achieve greatness by his own means, but this mark was given to him, not earned by him, and it is eating away at him._

"Why are you telling me this?" Leliana struggled as she took in the information that she was being fed by this strange voice.

 _I would take it as a warning, if I were you. If Charles is Charles, then he is planning something big, something that he will achieve by his own skill and temperance. He'll need it to be big so it can fit that giant ego of his._ The voice continued, _So there you have it, your 'Herald' is an egotistical sociopath who has no actual intention of being holy, although, knowing Charles, he may start developing a god-complex._

Leliana stayed silent for a moment, contemplating what she had been told.

"No," the red-head finally responded, "that is not true. Charles is not like that."

 _Oh really? The voice laughed at her, You think you know him better than I?_

"Better than a bizarre voice that began talking to me out of nowhere? Yes, I believe Charles is not the monster you say him to be. I believe he is a good man."

 _Oh, for the love of... you cannot be serious._ The voice interrupted her, _You are the bard, who's been hardened by years of experience in spying and heart breaking events, you're supposed to… I don't know, how about not blindly follow the ambitious nobleman! Why do you put so much faith in a man you know so little of!?_ The tone of their conversation was now changing very quickly, the voice was beginning to lose the façade of calmness and control it held before.

"I know that he is the Herald of Andraste, he has to be!" Leliana raised her voice, "I know he has been sent to save us, the Divine called out for him to save her!"

 _And did he? Charles is an_ _extremely capable man, he could have killed her assassins if he wished to, but he didn't. He got his wish of an empty sunburst throne, without even having to draw his own blade as he had planned to. In that empty throne he plans to sit a puppet which he will pull the strings of._

"Maybe you are referring to a different Charles, but the one I am speaking of, the one who sealed the Breach and saved me, is not the one you speak of." Leliana said to the voice, "My Charles is a man of faith, a man of kindness, and a man of honesty, unlike who you speak of."

 _Your Charles? Dear Lord, it's worse than I thought... The voice stayed silent for a moment before resuming, Look, I know that you have been hurting a great deal after the death of the Divine and that Charles has appeared as a figure of comfort in hard times, but that boy cannot be trusted. He could lie to guardian spirits with a straight face if he wished as much_ [1] _. I know better then anyone else that there is nothing but insincerity in his words and deception in his actions, do not fall victim to his lies._

"And who am I to believe, the random voice that began to talk to me out of nowhere, or the man who saved my life and stayed with me when we started the Inquisition?" Leliana asked rhetorically as she began to walk towards the door of the cabin with the book in her hands.

 _This is what I get for trying to help? You know what? Fine, stay with the power-hungry noble, see how that turns out, but when you feel the dagger in your back, or the noose tightening around your neck, do not think you have the right to feel sorry for yourself, because you were warned._ The voice finished, fading away as Leliana left the cabin and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

 _Well, that was a total waste of my time_. One Herald of Andraste thought to himself as he finished speaking with the Chantry mother he had walked such a distance to meet.

 _So I came all the way to talk with this Chantry official so she could tell me that I need to talk to other Chantry officials? Brilliant, just brilliant. That and try to make a good name for myself that isn't defined by the Chantry and their lies, but Charles Trevelyan already has a name for himself. You don't have to be a good and honest person to be written down in the history books as one, all that matters is that you be thought as moral by others._ Charles was distracted from his inner thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind him.

"So, what did she say?" Cassandra asked as Charles turned to face her.

"Cassandra, what do you think the common person thinks of us? Of the Inquisition?" Charles replied to her question with a question of his own.

"I… hadn't thought about that… I don't really know." Cassandra scratched the back of her head in puzzlement at the unexpected question asked by Charles.

"That's fine, it's better to admit ignorance than simulate knowledge," Charles lectured as he moved behind Cassandra and placed his arm around her neck and rested his hand on her shoulder, "but I digress, you probably don't want to hear me rant about ethics. The real problem is that the people don't know either, they only know of the Inquisition by what the majority of the Chantry has said about us, and the Chantry says that you," Charles tapped his finger on Cassandra's shoulder, "and I are heretics, not a very nice thing to say if I do say so myself." Charles lifted his arm off of her and waved his hand to her, signaling for her to follow him before leading her a short distance to a spot which gave them both an overview of the village.

"Look at them," Charles crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down at the towns people, "look at those poor souls. Already suffering from disease and hunger under the rule of that fool of a King of theirs, now they have to deal with the death of Most Holy, the rifts and the demons, what a shame." Charles turned to Cassandra, "Tell me Cassandra, if an organization such as ours wishes to grow and prosper, would it not be opportune to help these sorry saps? To rewrite some of the terrible misinformation concerning us that has been given to them by the Chantry?"

"I suppose so, but surely we alone cannot fix the problems of this place." Cassandra said skeptically.

"That is why we have the remnants of whatever troops you held before the Conclave. You see, just like it was necessary to make apparent the greatness and nobility of Andraste, that the elves be enslaved in Tevinter, thus in our time, to bring light to the true virtue of the Inquisition, it is fundamental that the people of Thedas be in such a state of despair, a state where the Tevinter are constantly under siege by the Qunari, where both the Orlesians and Antivians are at war with themselves, where the Rivaini are being converted by the sword to the faith of the Chantry, where the Free Marchers are exposed to the worst of the Mage Rebellion, where the people of Ferelden are ruled by kleptocracy. Only when our world is leaderless, lawless, beaten, despoiled, lacerated, overrun, and crushed by every kind of tragedy, can it be united under a banner of order, justice, and security, and freed from the tyrannical rule of chaos that grips Thedas so tightly."

"That is what we start today." Charles turned on his heel, facing the village below him.

"As of this moment this town is under the protection and authority of the Inquisition!" Charles shouted, his voice booming over the chatter of the village below him, "By the grace of Andraste herself, helping you will be the Inquisitions highest priority, your hunger will be satisfied with bread, your beds will be warmed with fur, and your children will be free to play in the streets without worry of mage or templar attack. From this moment on, you will no longer pray for someone to redeem you from the cruelty and insolence of the mages, templars, and demons, for your salvation has arrived!" The crowd that had formed beneath Charles while he gave his speech began to cheer.

 _Like sheep to their shepherd._ Charles smirked as he saw the common folk cheer for what they believed to be their deliverer from suffering, the Herald of Andraste.

Charles looked to his side to see the Seeker, not standing proud and tall at the sight of the cheering crowd, but standing back while Charles took the blunt of the cheers and praise. "Am I seeing things? Or is the mighty Hero of Orlais afraid of crowds?" Charles laughed after he walked away from the cheering crowd.

"No, it's just that it was not my speech and therefore not my praise to receive." Cassandra tried to sound confident in her response, but Charles was hard to fool when it came to seeing what people truly felt.

"You're correct, but the speech was given for the Inquisition, which, if I had to attribute the role of leader of the Inquisition to someone, it would be you." Charles explained to the Seeker.

 _Cassandra would never lead the Inquisition, I know that, but the flattery may work in my favor. Right now she is, without a doubt, the most powerful person in the Inquisition, the troops are more likely to follow her than their 'Commander'. It only makes sense to be on her good side, for now. There may come a time where I draw my sword against Cassandra and the other current Inquisition leaders, but not now, not yet._

"Me? Leading the Inquisition? I am flattered, but the Inquisition isn't led by a single person, and even if we didn't divide responsibility, I don't believe that I would be the one leading the Inquisition." Cassandra seemed to sweat at the notion of having complete control over the Inquisition.

 _Rejecting a position of absolute power is usually a sign of extreme shrewdness or a lack thereof._ Charles thought, he didn't know whether to regard Cassandra with respect or disfavor for her choice.

"And why is that? You founded it, with that whole slamming the big book on the table thing you had going with Rodrick, and being the former Right Hand of the Divine certainly does not lack for credibility." Charles countered.

 _In all actuality, anyone can be a leader, all it requires is a certain amount of grace, and hypocrisy. Put on a certain appearance, act according to a certain set of morals, but when behind closed doors, do things according to what is best for those you are leading, not what is said to be 'right', it's simple, really. Insincerity and deception have been features of leadership since the beginning of civilization, those who ignore this maxim and try to champion 'truth' and 'verity' as leaders to try to purge the liars in politics have been the cause behind the most bloodiest of revolutions, tyrannical dictatorships, and countless reigns of terror._

"Maybe, you do make a point, but I would never be able to put up with the boring politics that come with the position. I'd much prefer to be out fighting than dealing with the spoiled despot of whatever country we managed to piss off, It's better to be cutting off heads yourself rather than sending them to hang, no?" Cassandra chuckled at her crude joke.

 _Then there is always those who try to incorporate friendship into business. This is usually done for more power over those around you. The logic is that if you control their love and companionship then you control them, but it is much safer to be feared than loved. Since all humans, elves, dwarfs, even the qunari, are all, at their core, ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, and covetous. It is only as long as you succeed that they are stood by your side, but when you fall, they turn against you. We all falter less when violating one who we loved than one who we fear, the bond of love is held together by the obligation of men, which, is broken at the first chance they see profit; but fear is different. Fear will hold men in check through the spine-chilling consequences which you will inflict on any traitors, fear never fails to outlast love. Either that, or Cassandra is actually attempting to be friendly towards me, which would be surprising. I expect such from an emotionally unstable spymaster, but I don't think Cassandra is that stupid._

"Ah, yes, how right you are." Charles laughed with a forced smile.

* * *

Cassandra had been traveling with Charles for a couple days now, in that time she felt like she had gotten to know him better as a person. She also felt a need to correct herself, she still believed that Charles was indeed a strange one, that there was no doubt of in her mind, but she realized that it was not necessarily a bad thing. She would still catch him mumbling to himself once in awhile, but at the same time he always seemed to have something… interesting to say whenever she asked him what he was mumbling about. Sometimes he would talk to her about his family, how he thought they were meant to be together, but petty politics drew them apart. Even though Charles called himself an Andrastian, he also was very eager to share with her his many criticisms of the Chantry, some of which Cassandra had a very hard time disagreeing with. But no matter what he talked to her about, he always held complete confidence in whatever he said. Cassandra could respect that confidence, as long as he didn't overstep himself.

 _That and he laughs at my horrific attempts at comedy. Either we have a similar sense of humor or he is just being considerate._ Cassandra thought to herself before she heard a pair of footsteps behind her.

"That was quite the speech, Charles." Varric applauded as he and Solas walked towards them.

"I agree, it was very stirring. You seem to have quite a way with words." Solas put in.

"So since you've talked to that Giselle lady, what now?" Varric asked.

"We are going to do exactly what I said we would do, my dwarven friend. We are going to help these folks out." Charles began to walk up the path that led away from the village below them, "Solas, I want you to head back to camp and send a dispatch back to Haven. We'll need about fifty trained troops to help fortify this town, then I want you to head over to Redcliffe Farms, talk to Master Dennet, he will supply you with enough horses for the four of us, tell him that Charles wants to call in that favor now. Varric, you're charismatic, ask around and see what these people are lacking, food, water, medicine, anything they ask for, you tell me. Both of you report back to me at the villages market place by sun down." The two non-humans of the group nodded their heads to the Herald before heading off to complete their tasks, leaving just Charles and Cassandra.

"Cassandra," Charles turned to face the Seeker, "you're with me."

"What exactly will we be doing then?" Cassandra asked Charles as she began to follow him up the path.

"You'll see." Charles replied vaguely, Cassandra did not like vagueness, but she followed him up the path anyway. They both traveled a fair distance before coming upon a giant castle.

"Halt, who goes there?" A woman stopped them as they reached the gate of the castle.

"Who am I? I am the Herald of Andraste, Charles of House Trevelyan, at your service." Cassandra watched Charles take a bow before the woman, who in turn gave Charles an unamused look.

"Sure you are," The woman responded sarcastically, "and I'm the Empress of Orlais."

"He is not lying," Cassandra stepped forward, "I was there at the Conclave, I saw him close the Breach."

The woman looked at Cassandra with a frown before returning her gaze to Charles. "They say the Herald could close rifts with the flick of his hand. If you truly are the Herald of Andraste, then prove that you can close the rifts."

"If you already have a rift ready for me, then lead the way." The woman turned to open the gate before beckoning for the two of them to follow her.

"Charles, hold on a moment, why are you trying to prove to these people that you can close the rifts? Eventually, word will get to them from the surrounding villages that you can do so, why waste your time?" Cassandra asked as the woman led them through the castle.

"Because, Cassandra, this cult does not only reject my ability to close rifts, but they reject the entire Chant of Light as well," Charles answered without turning to face her, "and so, as an Inquisition, we are to put an end to this heresy. That is what Inquisitions do, no?"

"I guess so, but why would these people abandon the Chant of Light? Has the death of Most Holy really caused that much chaos?" Cassandra saw the eyes of those already in the castle turn to her and Charles as they were led through the center courtyard of the castle.

"I don't entirely know to tell the truth, the person who told me about this place in the village didn't really specify, but that is not what matters." They entered a dark tunnel filled with statues of the Maker, only lit by the light of a few torches, "What matters is that these people are no theologians, and today we will silence any claim in the Hinterlands that doubts my abilities as Herald of Andraste." As they exited the tunnel, they were faced with the rift that the woman had told them of as demons began to pour out. It did not take long before the demons were dispatched with ease by the two warriors.

"We make quite the team, Cassandra." Charles raised his hand to begin closing the breach when an arrow whipped by his head and caught an unexpecting Cassandra in the leg.

"Lies! You are no Herald! The Elder One calls for your blood!" Cassandra saw the woman who led them inside dropping her bow which she shot her with and drew her sword to charged Charles with, who still had his hand raised to close the breach. Cassandra called out to Charles, trying to warn him of the hostile woman, but the Herald ignored her cries and simply continued to close the rift as the woman ran at him, sword raised to strike. Charles finished shutting the rift, swiftly drawing his sword before side-stepping and sticking out his leg to trip the charging woman. The woman managed to perform an impressive frontflip to avoid being caught by Charles' leg, but that didn't stop him from swiping his sword across her. Cassandra's eyes widened as the body of the woman landed on the dirt without its head. She felt disgusted by the sight of the head falling to the ground before she flinched from the pain of the arrow lodged in her leg as she tried to get up.

"I am fucking awesome! Cassandra, did you see that?" Charles complimented himself before he turned to help her up, "I'll just take your pained moans as a yes. Come on then, we need to get out of here, this was a trap." She wrapped her arm around his neck as he carried her to one of the rocky corners of the small cave they were in.

"How are we to escape? If these cultists really wish to kill you, they are probably guarding the exit, waiting for us." Cassandra groaned in pain as Charles put her down against one of the rocks.

"Well," Charles began as he pulled the arrow from her leg, causing her to cry out in pain, "now seems like a perfect time to teach you how to rock climb, firsthand learning is the best kind of learning anyhow."

"I hope you understand that I cannot walk, much less climb!" Cassandra reminded him achingly as he helped her up.

"Then you'd best hold on tight." Charles told her as he turned around, "Look, I know that piggyback rides aren't very dignified, but the situation calls for it."

Cassandra rolled her eyes before hopping over to Charles on her good leg, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his chest, "You will tell no one of this." Cassandra whispered in Charles' ear as he began to climb that wall.

"The key here is to rely more on your legs than your arms and to extend your arms as much as possible." Charles explained as he moved from ledge to ledge on the rocky wall, "Cassandra, are you even listening?"

"Please, just go as fast as you can." Cassandra tightened her grip around Charles, "I'm not a fan of heights."

"Just look at the back of my head, don't you girls like to do each others hair? Make me a ponytail." Charles chuckled before he felt Cassandra tighten her grip even harder, beginning to squeeze on his ribs.

"What was that, Charles? I couldn't hear you over the sound your ribs cracking." Cassandra laughed back with an unnerving smile.

The two of them made their way up the wall of the cavern without any further commentary before reaching the top, where a hole through the ceiling waited for them. When Charles pulled them up above the hole, the first thing Cassandra noticed was that they were still inside of the castle of the cult, they had emerged onto one of the castle walls on which a crane stood that held up a head of a statue. Cassandra released her legs from around Charles before she wrapped her arm around his neck again. As they began to move across the wall, Cassandra froze with fear as dozens of cultists began emerging from the tower only a few feet in front of them, a figure dressed in white robes leading them.

"I did not expect the Herald of Andraste to fall so easily into our trap," the robed man began, "but I guess if you dangle a chance to get more people to start worshiping you, a man like you would not have second thoughts. When I bring you before the Elder One he will make me a king!"

"One: I'm not dead nor will I be anytime soon. Two: is this Elder One you guys keep talking about the person you are making the statue of?" Charles pointed towards the crane that sat next to them.

"What?" The robed man looked at him with confusion, "No, that is the head of your false God, your 'Maker'. Soon we will behead all of the statues of your heresy."

"Shame then." Charles grabbed the rope of the crane before kicking the lever that suspended the head of the statue, pulling him and Cassandra up towards the top of the crane and causing the head to plummet and hit the ground shattering. Once on top of the crane, Charles pulled his sword from its sheath and placed the flat of the blade over the rope which connected to the courtyard of the castle.

"Hold on!" Charles shouted, barely dodging the arrows fired at him by the cultists as he slid down across the rope with Cassandra latched on to him.

They landed relatively graciously before Charles kneeled down, causing Cassandra to start to fall but not before he caught her, placing one arm around her back and the other around the bend of her knees. "We move faster this way!" He said to her as he kicked the lever to the gate as more arrows were fired at them, sprinting out once it opened. Cassandra didn't know how long they, or more specifically he, ran for before Charles began to slow down.

"You know you don't have to carry me anymore, I think we are far enough away that you can put me down now." Cassandra said to Charles as he began carrying her up a hill, he did not acknowledge her pleads beyond turning his head to her for a brief moment with an exhausted look in his blue eyes before he looked back up the hill. Once they had reached the peak, Cassandra was greeted by the sight of one of the camps their soldiers had set up.

"Lady Seeker!" She heard the voice of Solas call out as two Inquisition soldiers rushed to help her. As the two soldiers carried her to a chair for her to sit in, Cassandra heard a thump behind her. She turned her head as she was being carried and saw the Herald with his face down in the dirt, she felt her heart stop as she saw the mess of arrows that were sticking out of his back as another soldier and Solas picked him up and helped the fallen Herald into a tent.

Did he have those the entire time that he was… Cassandra's thoughts began to slip away from her as the medic began to apply some sort of healing magic to her leg that put her to sleep.

* * *

She awoke from the darkness in a place she did not recognize, a place that smelt of blood and iron, she must've been in the middle of a battlefield. A unusually large full moon lit up the dark field she was in as Cassandra sat up. Looking around her, Cassandra saw hundreds, if not thousands, of dead bodies surrounding her on the grassy field. Cassandra quickly realized that she was no longer in the Hinterlands.

"So then he said to me 'it's not possible to take on four armies with one', Ha, what a jokester!" Cassandra heard a familiar voice echo through the bloody field, she turned to see a figure wearing a simple blue cloak, the only thing she could see besides that was the mans eyes, a bright glacial blue that lit up in the darkness of the night.

"Charles?" She called out to him from across the field as she tried and failed to stand up, her legs failing her.

"Oh, what's this? A survivor? I guess if you have to give the Hercinians one thing, it's that they are persistent in their ambition to utterly fail." Charles chuckled as he turned to her with his sword unsheathed.

"What? Charles, It's me, Cassandra. Where are we? What are you doing?" Cassandra asked nervously, she noticed a smirk appear on Charles' face as he marched towards her with sword in hand.

"Cassandra? Well even though I must admit that is a lovely name, I am afraid I have no idea who you are. The only thing I can say about you with certainty is that you made a terrible mistake coming here, Cassandra." The sky began to redden as he came closer and closer. Cassandra looked up to see that the moon had turned from it's usual pale coloring to a deep, blood red. She looked down from the red moon to find Charles in front of her, his blue eyes and cloak contrasting with the now red environment that surrounded him. He raised his sword to strike, Cassandra froze in terror, there was nothing she could do, she had no shield to block with, no sword to fight with, she was completely helpless. Maybe that is what really terrified her, the fact that she would be remembered, not going down fighting with her sword in hand, but stunned and unable to move as she was cut to pieces. Yes, that did indeed terrify her.

* * *

Cassandra shot up from her bed, sweat falling down from her brow as she breathed heavily after waking up from her nightmare. She thanked the Maker when she saw that she was in a tent rather than wherever her dream took her to. The candlelight allowed for Cassandra to see that she was not alone in the tent, next to her laid the same man who she owed her life to and at the same time had dreamed of him killing her. Awkward.

Maker, how many arrows were there? Cassandra thought as she watched Charles resting, she began to wonder what the man was dreaming of, was it a nightmare like the one she dreamed of, or was it a dream of serenity? Cassandra questioned herself as she placed her hand upon his cheek.

Perhaps he does not dream, Cassandra tossed around another possibility in her head, he looks so peaceful, neither happy nor sad. Is that what it means to be at peace? Cassandra drew her fingers across his cheek, caressing it.

"Cassandra…"

"Charles?" Cassandra's eyes widened at the sound of his voice whispering her name.

"Cassandra…"

"Yes, It's me, I'm here, don't worry. Are you feeling better?" Cassandra felt a warm feeling fill her stomach as she watched his eyes flutter open.

"Why are you touching my face?" Charles looked at her, his eyes staring into hers.

"You have such pretty eyes…" Cassandra had forgot completely that she had just had a nightmare where this man had tried to kill her as stared with entrancement into his light blue orbs.

"Cassandra!" Charles shot up from his back and moved her hand off his face, "I don't think this is the time or place for _that_."

"I-I didn't mean- it was not my intention to imply such things, unless you want..." Cassandra froze, her cheeks began to flush a bright red as she watched his eyes drain of any amusement. _Maker, Cassandra, what have you done now?_

"Lets just pretend that never happened" Charles sighed as he stood up. "How long have you been awake for?" He asked, quickly brushing off her misdemeanor and stretching his arms as he stood.

"I only just woke up now." Cassandra answered, gathering herself as Charles offered her a hand to help her stand up.

She took a moment to gather her balance before Charles held the flap of the tent open for her, "Ladies first." The two of them exited the tent to be greeted by the sight of their two other companions talking with Scout Harding.

Varric was the first one to notice them as they walked out of their tent, "Well well well, look who's finally awake!" Varric exclaimed heartily.

"How long were we out for?" Charles immediately questioned as he walked pass Varric to look off the cliff at the small village below them.

"Two days, it would have been possible to wake you earlier, but the medic insisted that for a full recovery you needed a full two days rest. You did take quite a beating, the both of you." Solas explained as he looked over to Cassandra.

"Did you get those horses, Solas?" Charles asked without turning his head from the village below.

"Yes, four of them, just as you asked. Dennet has them waiting for us." Solas nodded, Cassandra wondered how Charles knew Dennet.

 _Charles must get around a lot_ , Cassandra thought before her cheeks lit up just like they had before when she was caught touching his face as she thought of how that statement could be misinterpreted. _Maker, not like that!_

"Cassandra!" Charles' voice snapped her out of her obscene train of thought. "If you are done daydreaming, we are heading out. Gather your things, Lady Seeker."

"Where exactly are we going now?" Varric took the words right out of her mouth.

"We are going to Denerim, from there we will go by ship to Ostwick. Brother dearest has made a terrible mistake and I plan on correcting him."

* * *

"How long before we can get the funeral underway?" A man in a jeweled tunic sat in at a table in a bedroom that looked fit for a king.

"You know we can't start it without him," across from him sat a woman dressed just as royally as he was, "it's tradition that all l members of a family be present for a funeral."

"Damn the traditions!" The man slammed his fist against the table, knocking over the expensive bottles of wine and causing them to spill. "If we don't hold the funeral he'll have an excuse to return and then rally the military to his side and overthrow both of us!"

The woman across from him picked up the fallen wine and placed the plug in the bottle, her calm demeanor acting as an antithesis to the mans fury. "We have been over this before, there would be public outrage if we defied the traditional ways. Even if he does control the military, he cannot seize power if he does not have support of the senate, and I've made sure they've pledged themselves to us."

"Whatever, I'll be at my special place if you need me." The man groaned before he stood to leave as the candle in the room began to dim.

"Marcus," the woman stopped him as he walked through the doorway, "are we doing the right thing? Barring our brother from his home, from the funeral of his mentor?"

"What kind of question is that, Helen? You know that if Charles managed to seize power, there would be no telling how tyrannical he could become. He would wage war until the end of all time, he would bring an end to any chance of peace between Ostwick and the other Free Marcher states. You and I both grew up with him, we know better than anyone else that, if given the chance, Charles would try to conquer the sun itself. For the sake of not only Ostwick, but of all of Thedas, that despot must not be allowed to sit upon the throne."

* * *

1\. Incase any of you were wondering, Charles totally lied his way through the Guardian's question in chapter one. I mean, what kind of anti-hero would Charles be if he actually followed that sappy love and 'forgive and forget' rhetoric that he uses to make himself seem ethical?


	6. Nothing but a Tyrant

_Moron, airhead, goof, jackass, know-nothing, idiot!_ If she wasn't surrounded by the three of her companions, Cassandra might have said those things about herself out loud. _What is wrong with you? Why are you even stressing yourself over this? He clearly doesn't care, why should you?_ What Cassandra was currently berating herself over was something that she was desperate to convince herself was nothing more than a simple moment of unrequited lust, _It can't be any more than that, we've only known each other for less than two months for the Maker's sake!_

"We'll need four rooms, one for each of us, also, get me some of those fire bombs, the small ones too." The man who she was so forlorn over was currently trying to get her, and the rest the party, rooms in the Gnawed Noble Tavern. They had arrived in Denerim a few hours ago, Charles hoped to get them out of the Ferelden capital by tomorrow.

"For that much money?" The tavern owner frowned as he looked at the bag of coins placed on the table, "The most I can give you for that is two rooms, and that's only because I'm feeling generous today."

"I can work with that," Cassandra heard Charles sigh, "I guess."

"So, who's sharing with who?" Varric asked from the stool that he sat on.

Charles turned to them with the two keys to the rooms in his hand, he looked to Solas for a moment, then to Varric, then finally turned his gaze upon her. His crystal blue eyes looked as if they glowed in the dim light of the tavern. Cassandra wasn't one to be intimidated easily, she had fought dragons and slayed demons, but those eyes, those cold icy eyes made her feel as if Charles was staring into the deepest depths of her soul.

 _Maker, help me._ Cassandra thought as she squirmed under his gaze.

"Cassandra," Charles' voice snapped her back to reality, "you and Solas will take one room, Varric and I will take the other, understood?"

"Yes sir! I mean- Herald!" Cassandra awkwardly saluted Charles.

Solas, Varric, and Charles looked at the Seeker with confusion before Charles spoke up, "Cassandra, this isn't a military academy, there's no need to treat me like your commanding officer."

"Understood sir! I mean - damn it!" Cassandra misspoke again before Varric began to break down laughing at the Seeker's flub. The dwarf quickly ceased his laughing as Cassandra looked at him with a death stare. Charles merely sighed and shook his head at their shenanigans.

"You've booked us these rooms, but the day is still young. What are we to do in the meantime?" Solas asked, actually putting something intelligent into their absurd interaction.

"I want the three of you to head down to the docks, see if you can get us a boat to cross the waking sea on. If you have time after that... well, I don't really care, but maybe you can find something useful to do at the market. Just don't go picking any fights, that's my job. I'll meet back with you all here in the tavern when the sun begins to set. Until then," Charles turned his back to them and began to walk towards the exit, "just try not to get yourself killed."

"Hold on," Varric called out to stop him, "where are you going?"

"Oh, just, you know," Charles turned around to face them as he backed towards the exit, "see the sights, meet some people, maybe even pay a visit to the King." Charles opened the door and left the tavern without turning his back to them.

"Is it just me, or did he just leave us all the work while he goes off and does whatever he wants?" Varric asked from behind Cassandra.

"It would seem you are correct." Solas chimed in.

"I'm sure the Herald is doing something important, we should not waste any time of our own." Cassandra signaled for her other two companions to follow her as she began to walk towards the tavern's exit.

"You sure do put a lot of faith in that guy, Cassandra." Varric began to criticize her.

"Who I place my faith in is none of your business, Varric. Now move, we have a ship to find."

"Yes ma'am!" Varric mocked her as he and Solas followed her, causing Cassandra to roll her eyes and Solas to release a light chuckle.

* * *

 _What a bunch of freaks._ Charles thought to himself as he made his way down through an alleyway. _I mean, first there's Solas; the guy trying way too hard to be the 'quite and mystical' stereotype. Then there is Varric, the 'ruff and tough but also friendly' character that everyone tried to be when they were younger. Finally, there is Cassandra, who, in all honesty, just scares me. I mean, what kind of person goes from acting like they want to murder someone then, in less than a month, starts touching their face while they're asleep. This 'Inquisition' is like one big circus._

"10,000 is what we signed off on, now hand over the package or else me and my friends turn around and take our coin with us." Charles heard a voice echo through the alleyway of Denerim. _Time to see if the rumors are true._

* * *

Sera didn't like this. The alleyway she and her other two friends were in in smelt like shit, and it didn't help that their client showed up late and now was trying to renegotiate the price!

"I don't know... that seems a bit too cheap. How about 15,000?" Their elven client replied, Sera didn't know why she was even here to begin with now that she thought about it. How was this supposed to upset the nobility?

"Catch!" Her friend's response to the client was interrupted by a sword flying pass Sera's face, barely missing her nose as it did. Sera and her friends turned to look where to sword had been thrown just in time to catch a fist with her face, the force of which knocked her to her back. The man who threw the punch swiftly turned and grabbed around the back of the neck of her stunned friend and pulled her abdomen into his raised knee, knocking the air out of her. Sera tried to stand to fight the stranger, but was forced back to the ground as she felt the boot of the man smack across her face. Her second and only standing friend drew his dagger and swiped at the man with all of his might, but only managed to cut off a lock of the agile man's hair as he moved with great speed under the outstretched arm belonging to her friend. Once behind him, the man reached around her friend's head and slipped his fingers into his eye sockets and began to pull hard. Sera flinched as she heard him begin to scream as he was pulled to the ground. Once he brought him to the floor, the man raised his foot like an axe above her friend's head. Sera looked away, unable to bare the sight as she heard the pleas for mercy silenced by the sound of splitting skin and cracking bone.

"Of course, the one person I want to kill gets away." The man began to rant to himself angrily as Sera looked to her bow, which had been knocked off of her back when she had been thrown to the ground by the force of the man's punch. As she reached for the grip of her bow, a boot landed in front of her and snapped it in two, Sera looked up to see the same man who disarmed her standing over her.

 _Son of a-_ Sera's thoughts were interrupted as the man grabbed her by the throat and lifted her high above the ground.

"Where did he go, the man who was trying to sell you this?" He began to interrogate her.

"I don't fucking know, you stupid shite!" Sera struggled to swear at him as he tighten her grip on her throat.

"A shite? I haven't been called that in a long time...", the man looked to the sky for a moment before he returned his eyes to her, "Do you even know what that man was giving you?"

"No, why would I? The Friends of Red Jenny wanted it, whatever it is, and the man would give it. No reason to make it complicated." Sera replied, she noticed the man's brow furrow at her response. Instead of telling her what exactly the box they were buying held, the man took a much more physical route of explaining, throwing her into her box and revealing its inners as he did.

"Do you know what this is?" The man picked up a bag from the wreckage of the box, he ripped it open and out spilled out a red dust, "It is just what I suspected, this is what they like to call red sand"

"Am I supposed to know what that is?" Sera said as she struggled to stand up.

"Well, right now, It's just lyrium dust, but instead of being made into potions for templars to get addicted to, it is grounded down even further into a drug of sorts, so now everyone can get addicted to it. The saddest part? Most of the people who buy it have no idea what it does. I mean, why would they even bother to look into the side effects when it's first effect makes you feel so blissful? It is legal after all, what could possibly go wrong?" The man explained to her as he walked towards the box. "Move!" He yelled at her as he threw a red glass flask at the wreck of the box, igniting an explosion as it broke. Sera dived out of the way just in time to avoid being caught on fire, "It's also extremely combustible."

"What's your problem then?" Sera yelled at him as she stood up, "Are you just some kind of thug that preys on people doing something perfectly legal?"

"Slavery is legal in Tevinter, but something tells me that you wouldn't be content with being placed in chains, would you?" The man answered as he turned from her and picked up his sword.

"No, but slavery is not the same as using whatever that crap is, slavery is forced on people, this is not! What about freedom?!" She argued back at him.

"What about it?" He stopped and turned to her, "After about a month of use, red sand begins to cause hallucinations, and before you know it, you think everyone you know wants to kill you in the most painful way possible, most who end up taking it end up going insane within the year. Is that what it means to be free? To have the right to destroy yourself? If so, I have no desire to be free, nor to free others."

"What?" Sera frowned at the man, "What are you, some kind of psychotic authoritarian?"

"Pretty much." The man shrugged before reaching into his pocket, "Look, I understand now that you didn't know what you and your friends were getting into when you got here, so I suggest you get out of here and take your friends with you. They'll need some healing as well, so take this, buy some potions for them," he took a pouch of coins from his pocket and handed it to her, "consider it an amends for the whole punching and kicking thing earlier." The man awkwardly finished before turning to walk away.

Sera stared at the pouch for a moment, trying to assess what just happened to her. _At least he paid for the damage_ , she thought as she watched him leave. "Wait!", she called out to him just before he rounded a corner, "where are you going?"

"Finding the one who got away!" He yelled back.

"But how do you know where he went?"

"I can't say for sure, but, on a side note, stay away from the Alienage, things may get... wild there within the next hour." Sera heard him as he rounded the corner and left her sight, this was certainly going to be interesting.

* * *

Charles watched the crowd and cluster of the Alienage with disgust, the sun was beginning to set, that meant that the elves that were good and working people would be going to bed, but the ones that stayed up were quite a different story. But he wasn't here to simply observe them, he was here to follow a trail. He looked from atop the vhenadahl, his figure hidden by the darkening sky as he searched for suspicious behavior among the elves. The shine of armor caught his eye, in an alleyway behind the homes of the elves stood two men, well armed, and with a door behind them.

 _These people make it too easy._ Charles thought as he jumped onto the roof of a near by home, from then jumping from roof to roof until he reached the ground. He made his way through the alleyway before coming to a turn, going beyond which would put him in the guard's line of sight. He slumped down to his knees, trying to think of a way which could distract, incapacitate, or kill the guards, it didn't really matter to him which, as long as it got the job done.

"You could always throw a rock." A whisper made Charles jump, he turned to see the same blonde elf from earlier.

"You? What are you doing here!? I told you specifically not to come here!" Charles tried to keep his voice quiet as he barked at the elf.

"Well, I don't always do what people tell me." She chuckled at him before gaining an air of seriousness, "Look, I thought about what you said, and I think you're right, these guys are just a bunch of tits trying to make some money off of people who have no idea what they're getting into. So you and I, human and elf, are going to save the day! Right?" The elf grinned at him.

"Ugh," Charles rolled his eyes, "fine." He reached over to where two sizable rocks laid before picking them up, "Just don't get in my way."

"I think you'll only need one-" Before she could finish her sentence, Charles threw both of the rocks at the same time, both of which hit the two men directly in their heads, knocking them over and out.

"You're supposed to throw the rock as a distraction, you twat!" The girl boldly smacked him across the back of his head.

"Did you just smack me!?" Charles turned to the elf with fury in his eyes.

"Oh no, that was the wind!" She said sarcastically, "Of course it was me!"

Charles stopped for a moment, who was this woman? Some city-elf, obviously, but besides that, he had never seen an elf with such boldness. It made him think... he didn't know what to think, but there was some respect that arose for her and her bold behavior, especially considering what had happened to Ostwick's Alienage and its elves.

"What's your name?" Charles asked.

"Sera." The elf answered, "What's yours?"

"Charles, but lately people have taken to calling me other names." The anger in him dispersed and he and Sera made their way through the door passed the two unconscious guards.

The two of them made their way into the depths of the hideout until they reached another doorway, behind which Charles could hear a great deal of chatter.

"What do you mean you lost it!?" An outraged voiced yelled from the other side of the door.

"Ok, maybe I didn't exactly 'lose' it." A different, but familiar voice replied. Charles immediately identified it as the same dealer from earlier, the one that got away.

"What happened then!?" Charles watched as Sera kicked the door open. A little dramatic, but I guess it'll do.

"Drop your weapons. Now!" Sera raised a new bow, Charles hoped this one didn't end up meeting the same fate as her previous one.

"And who are you supposed to be?" The voice, now revealed to be another elf, asked, "Jacob, are these the two that ruined our deal?"

"Just, the one on the right, sir.", the man from before said, "Now that I think about it, that elf there was supposed to be guarding the package!"

"Well, now we know what to tell The Friends of Red Jenny: one of their own, working with the enemy, a traitor!" Charles turned to Sera, interested to see how she would react to the accusation.

"A traitor!?" Sera's eyes lit up with anger, "How am I a traitor? You people are selling narcotics to others, things that could destroy them!"

"You think that's all we're doing? Is that all that man told you about? Sister, this human is deceiving you! The money we make here will go to the elves in the Alienage, to hopefully upset the situation of poverty they've been put in by humans like him!" the elf pointed towards Charles.

"Oh, come on! You guys really couldn't think of something better than the 'humans are oppressing us' platform?" Charles laughed as he asked elf, "I mean, could you be any more unoriginal?"

"It's true! Do you really not see the horrid way that humans treat elves? Even when our past is superior in every way to theirs, the past they destroyed!"

"Yeah, humans did cause a lot of problems for elves, but that was in the past, you can't blame him for the actions of his ancestors! Don't let the past stop you from having a future." Sera exclaimed.

"It's not just in the past!", the elf countered, "Even today, the humans are against us. The nobility, the wealthy shop owners, the monarchy, all of these positions are held by humans, and all of them contribute to the exploitation of all city elves! The red sand trade thrives all over Ferelden, but do you know who are stereotyped as the main addicts? Elves! They blame elves for something their human king made legal. We, as elves, must rise up against and overthrow the institutionalized humanism. It's the responsibility of all elves, even you, Sister."

"I'm not joining your weird cult, or whatever you call it! I can get by just fine without the whole 'over throwing oppression' thing you lot have going on!"

"That is a shame, I had hoped that I could awaken all of my brothers and sisters, but it appears you wish to stay blissfully ignorant." The elf finally finished.

"Yes, indeed a shame, I actually thought that this conversation was going somewhere." Sera's eyes widened as she noticed that Charles was no longer next to her, he had silently moved down next to the other two elves. The elf who she had been talking with yelped in surprise, the only human in the room took advantage of this as he quickly placed a smaller version of the flask, which he had used to blow up the red sand box earlier, in his open mouth. Before the elf could react, Charles grabbed the back of his head and slammed him to the ground, causing the fiery flask to shatter and detonate in his mouth. Sera flinched at his brutal death, but caught glimpse of the other elf running for the door. She raised her bow and began to pull back the string, but the words of the now dead elf echoed through her head.

 _Sister_. She had never been called that by someone before, much less considered family by others, maybe close friends but not family. Sera let go of the string, but purposely misdirected the shot as it hit the wall next to the door which the elf then escaped through. Even though she hated those damned fools who basked foolishly in the past, such words of family, of bonds she never had, still struck a chord on her heart.

"Nice shot." Charles said sarcastically, "Aren't you elves supposed to be naturally good archers?"

"Well, I would be a better shot if you hadn't kicked me in the face earlier!" Sera shot back, "Besides, it's just one guy who got away."

"Just one guy?" Charles frowned at her, "Sera, you do realize that the man you let go is apart of the same organization that that other elf was preaching for, right? And that without a doubt he is running to tell his companions about the evil human and the traitorous elf who killed their friend, right?"

"Oh." Sera scratched the back of her head awkwardly.

Charles snorted at her before he turned to a group of boxes that stood in the corner of the room they were in. "Sera, do you believe in evil?"

"Uh..." She was caught off guard by his question, "Well, yeah, of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"Do you believe that some things are so evil, so wicked, so rotten and decadent that they need to be, suppressed, beaten upon, destroyed, and exterminated?"

"Maybe, in some cases, I guess so."

"Then I would like to extend an offer to you," Charles threw a fire flask against the boxes, causing a chain reaction of explosions, "I work for a organization called the Inquisition, maybe you've heard of us. I find that the Inquisition could make use of your services, and so I ask, would you like to join the Inquisition?" Charles turned to her.

"You're with the Inquisition?" Sera's eyes looked eager as she moved in front of him, "Does that mean you know the Herald of Andraste?"

"Better than most."

"Is it true that he was exiled by his own brother from his home? Does he really plan on returning to Ostwick to confront his brother? Did he really bring down a pride demon by himself? Has he really slept with every woman in Haven? Is he cold and moody to people or warm and canty?" Sera questioned Charles, who in turn smirked at the agog elf.

"He actually is here in Denerim, believe it or not, I can take you to him once we get out of here."

"Count me in then!" Sera extended her hand out to Charles for him to shake. He reached out, but before their hands met, Sera spat in her palm, and looked for him to do the same. Charles looked at her hand in disgust for a moment before he begrudgingly spat in his own and shook hers.

* * *

 _I don't get paid enough for this. Actually, I don't get paid at all!_ Charles thought as he let go of Sera's hand before they turned to leave through the same exit the elf had escaped through earlier. The two emerged from the exit tunnel into the city, Charles noticed that he had gotten off track with his crackdown and that the sun had already set. The streets of Denerim were crowded at this time, it would only slow them down, but that is not what roused his ire as he and Sera made their way through the dirty streets of Ferelden to the tavern.

"Are you alright?" Sera asked him. Charles was surprised, he thought that he withheld his emotions from reaching his face well, but apparently not well enough.

"I'm fine, it's just that... nothing." _Nighttime… when all the filth that piles up in the Denerim's sewers spills to the streets, the sick, the junkies, all types of degenerates show their ugly faces when the sun falls. One day, a storm will come, a storm that'll wash all this scum off the streets and back into the sewers, where they belong. Soon the civilization of wasteful pleasure will disappear forever._ Charles thought just as they reach their destination, he held the door for the elf as she entered the tavern which they and the others, which Charles still had to introduce Sera to, were to be staying at.

"Thank the Maker!" Charles heard Cassandra call out as he entered the tavern behind Sera "We thought something had happened to you, I was about to go searc-" Cassandra's cheeks turned red as she was silenced by a finger placed on her lips.

"It's fine, I'm always fashionably late." Charles chuckled as he lifted his finger from her.

"Very funny." Cassandra snorted before looking at Sera, "Who is this?"

"Name's Sera! I'd love to get acquainted, but do you where the Herald of Andraste is? I was kinda promised that I would get to meet him." Sera looked pass Cassandra's shoulder, trying to see if she could catch a sight of the Herald who was really standing next to her.

"Charles?" Cassandra said before he coughed awkwardly.

"Wait a second," Sera looked at Charles then to Cassandra, then back to Charles, "You're the Herald of Andraste!?"

"Yep, what's wrong? I don't fit the "heroic savior' stereotype you had going in your head? Actually, don't answer that." Charles said before he turned to Cassandra, "Cassandra, did you get us a ride to Ostwick?"

"No, but she got you the second best thing," A new voice entered the conversation, "a Captain that can get you there."

Charles turned to see a woman dressed in a white dress and a blue bandana over her head. Next to her stood a tall, lanky, tanned-skin elf with strange tattoos and white hair. Behind the woman her, Charles could see a small figure hiding with her head slightly peaked out so that Charles could see black hair, pale skin, tattooed face, elven ears, and bright green eyes. When the elf girl noticed his eyes on her, she swiftly ducked her head behind the other woman's back.

"My name is Isabela, a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor." Isabela introduced herself with a bow.

"I am Fenris." The tall elf introduced himself plainly.

"Sorry about him, he can be a bit broody." Isabela laughed, "And this," Isabela reached behind her and pulled the elven girl out then dropped her in front of Charles, "is Merrill."

"H-Hello, my name is Merrill, but I guess you already knew that so um..." Merrill clumsily introduced herself. Charles had to stop himself from chuckling at the elf's struggle to speak before doing something he would probably regret later, but would sure as hell get a kick out of now.

"A Dalish? I had only heard stories of your tribes, but, by the Maker, they do not do justice to your beauty." Charles knelt down and kissed her hand in gentlemen-like fashion.

* * *

Isabela watched the event unfold before her, she would usually laugh at the intense shade of red which Merrill's cheeks turned, but instead she felt an unfamiliar defensive feeling wash over her, _Am I getting protective?_

* * *

 _Oh, come on! When I first met him he punched me in the jaw, now he bows down and kisses some fancy dalish elf!? What a rip off!_ Sera thought as she watched them.

* * *

 _Why the sudden act of courtesy? Does this woman have something Charles wants? Is he trying to make himself like virtuous in front of everyone? Or is he just doing it to try to act unpredictable?_ Solas tried to analyze the situation.

* * *

 _I doubt he would be doing this if he knew she was a bloodmage._ Fenris judged silently.

* * *

 _Excuse me!?_ Cassandra's thoughts on the situation were less calm, _Who does this elf think she is!? Who does Charles think he is!?_

* * *

 _This is going to get interesting._ Varric thought as he and Solas watched the events from the other side of the room.

* * *

 _Oh dear, oh my, did he just kiss my hand? Why would he kiss my hand? Why is he staring into my eyes? Creators, help me._ Merrill's thoughts were filled with a hundred different questions as her cheeks lit up a bright red.

* * *

You know, after a long day of setting things, and people, on fire, I think it's necessary to have a bit of fun. Charles thought to himself as he watched the elf's reaction before he let go of her hand and rose to his feet.

"So, Isabela, you said you don't have a ship?" Charles asked the rivaini woman.

"No, but I do know where we can get one." Isabela replied.

"Well you can tell me tomorrow, for now, I think we ought to retire ourselves, it's been a long day." Charles began to make his way towards the bedrooms, "Let's see... Sera and Fenris, you both will be staying with Cassandra and Solas. Merrill and Isabela, both of you are with me and Varric. Let's all try to get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us, and behind us. Maybe all days are long days... but then what makes a day long or short? Is it the amount of activities one does in that day, or the amount of time spent in different places? It could also be based on the person you ask, one who wakes up before sunrise may feel as if their day is longer than the one who does not awake until the day has aged, right?" Charles finished before he realized that most of the group had already left to their beds.

 _At least, you're here to listen to my ramblings, empty conscious. You, along with my nihilistic imagination, will always be here to comfort me. I guess that other voice in my head decided to hit the road. Whatever, he was a dick anyways. There's only one person who can insult me over my sociopathic tendencies, and that's me!_


	7. Dreams

Hello again. I haven't updated this story in awhile. 'Been busy doing things, things of the thingy nature. But fear not, I am again back and will be updating this story with more mediocracy than ever before. Which is saying a lot really. Now, back to our regular programming.

* * *

"Where are we, Uncle?"

"Your home for the next year, Charles." A cloaked man led a young Charles off of a small row boat unto a rocky beach.

"What?" The younger of the two struggled to keep up with his elder as they climbed up the rocks towards what looked like a forest.

"You have ears, boy. You heard what I said." Cato said to him, "Here is where your real training begins."

"But I already learned how to fight. The sword, the shield, the bow, the axe, I know it all already!"

Cato stopped climbing and clenched his fist before he turned around and backhanded Charles, causing him to fall back down the rocks which he had just climbed. "Your arrogance will be your undoing. You are no where near done with your training yet. I have taught you the 'how', but not shown the 'why'."

Charles caught one of the ledges of the rocks as he fell, "I have reasons!" He protested as he stood up, "My family, friends, loved ones. Are those not noble things to fight for?"

"Yes, they are," His Uncle agreed, "but I am not training you to be noble. I am training you to become something far more great than what you are now."

"And how does putting me on a remote island for year a play into that?" Charles asked as he climbed back up the rocks and followed his Uncle.

"Because, on this island, you are not the youngest son of the Teyrn of Ostwick." Charles watched as Cato disappeared into the forest, "You are not rich. You are not beautiful. You are not special." Cato's voice could still be heard as Charles climbed up the rocks and ran into the forest after him. "You are not a gift from the Maker. In fact, if the Maker thinks about you at all, he probably doesn't even like you."

Charles struggled through the vines and bushes of the forest as he tried to follow his Uncle's voice. "Mother Nature doesn't like you either. She is not your caretaker, she does not nurture you. Mother Nature wants to kill you." A snake jumped at him, but Charles caught it and squeezed its throat until the serpent went limp in his hand.

"There is the world on one side," another snake jumped at him, this time biting his leg, "and you on the other." Charles crushed the snake with his heel before he fell back against a tree, holding onto his bitten, bleeding leg.

"Do you think your family, friends, and loved ones will protect you now that you stand alone, without your beauty, money, or uniqueness?" He looked up to see Cato standing before him, "Because they won't. You have absolutely nothing, no one to fight for you here. No family, no friends, and no loved ones. You have no 'why'."

"What is the 'why' then, Uncle?" Charles grinded his teeth together as blood seeped from where the snake bit him.

"I am not here to give you that 'why', I am here to make you realize that nothing will ever give you that 'why'. You will never truly have a complete meaning, never be content with the life you live, and never be called to a higher cause, even if the Chantry says you are."

"No!" Charles sneered and reached for the dagger he kept in his back pocket, "You're wrong, I have meaning!" He stood and swiped at his Uncle with the blade, but was brought to his knees as a fist connected with his stomach.

"No, you have illusions." Cato sneered back as Charles clenched his abdomen. "You must accept that you are nobody's missing piece. You have to accept that you are not blooming, but decaying _._ You have to accept that you will be wished by many people to be destroyed, ripped from limb to limb, stomped on and trampled flat, and burned at the stake. You will not be saved by any prayer, any friends, family, or loved ones. You have to give up." He picked Charles up and gripped him by the neck as he held him up against the tree.

"Do you accept this? That you always have, and always will, mean nothing to the world, and that you will always be seen as no more than a mean to an ends by those around you. That those people will lie to you, abuse you, and betray you to get what they want from you, and that this also applies to your so called friends, loved ones, and family too." Cato asked as Charles struggled against his grip. "Have you lost hope?"

"...Yes." Tears that broke free from Charles' blue eyes ran down his cheeks as he gave into the dreadful feeling that Cato's words brought to him.

"Good." The elder of the two grinned and dropped his crying Nephew to the forest floor. "Because it is only when we are turned to ash that we can become great phoenixes. Now we can finally get started with your real training. I will begin with one simple question."

"If a demon were to creep into your room one fateful night, come to you as you lie there, weeping as the loneliest of loneliness plagues your mind as I know it does every night, and say to you in your sorrow: This life which you have lived until now shall be lived forever more; and all the pain, all the grief, all the suffering you have endured will forever be with you. Would you explode into a fit of rage and curse the demon until the end of time? Or would you answer, in a state of bliss: Why, I have never heard of anything more marvelous? What feeling would reverberate throughout your bones, Charles, if you were told that the enteral hourglass of time was to be forever turned and with you in it, dust of the dust?"

Charles looked up at his Mentor through teared eyes, his heart ached and mind pulsated with pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words failed him as nothing came out. There was nothing he would say, nothing he could say, because, for the first time in Charles Trevelyan's life, he had no idea what to say. He had no answers.

"Good, it is better that you have no reply for now." Cato said. "Now, on this far-distant island, I will raise you to be something your fool of a father could never could. From outside the binds of the Chantry and the nobility with their idols and morals, you will be risen beyond good and evil to be _your own God._ Man is something that you will overcome, you will be your own evil, your own good! All that is virtue and decay embroiled within you! From the chaotic loss you have befallen to, you will be reborn into a illuminating star that will shine over the world for the rest of eternity!"

 **Eight years later:**

* * *

"Is that it?"

"Yes, ma'am. He arrived at Denerim with Cassandra, Solas, and Varric just yesterday. He has also recruited a city elf who apparently has contacts with the Friends of Red Jenny and has managed to secure a way across the Waking Sea, but has not left Denerim yet. We have yet to figure out who it is that agreed to sail him to Ostwick."

"You are dismissed." Leliana rubbed her temples as one of her agents saluted her before leaving her tent. She had been tracking Charles and the others for as long as they had been gone from Haven. Maybe it was wrong to spy on her allies, her friends, but she only wanted to keep them safe, and to help keep her own sanity as she worried about them constantly, or more specifically one of them. There was his mark, that was important, she tried to rationalize it that way. Rationalize that itch she had been feeling since they talked in his cabin, that it was only her being worried about losing the only thing that could close the Breach. She didn't want to that itch to be anymore than that, she couldn't and he probably wouldn't.

 _Don't use that word, you idiot!_ She thought as she stood up from the chair she sat in and walked from her tent towards the Haven Chantry. _'Probably' means there is a chance for..._ Her face scrunched together in anger as she opened the door to the Chantry, _things that will never come._

She made her towards her bedroom and slammed the door behind her once in. The spymaster sighed and let go of her clenched fists, that agent was her last task for the day, she turned and locked the door behind her before falling face first on to her bed. There was one thing that kept her from napping away the rest of the day, however. Her head turned to a book laying on her bed shelf, she turned over on her back and reached for the book which she had found in Charles' cabin, the book which he himself had apparently written. The hood she wore fell back as she leaned back against her pillows, revealing her sleek straight red hair that ran down to her neck.

 _A dim candle, a hopefully good book, and a lack of responsibilities for the time being._ Leliana thought as she turned to the first page, _Hopefully this will cure that damn itch._

 _Hello._

That was all the first sentence said, Leliana's eyebrows rose as she read more of the words in her head.

 _I_ _hope this is you reading this, Leliana. If not then that'd be pretty awkward. If you are, then I'm sure you're wondering how I knew that you would be reading this. Believe it or not, I actually can't read minds and did not foresee that you would sneak into my cabin while I was gone. I know many things, but there were two things in particular that led me to take this course of action: I knew you wanted to know more about me and I knew that you knew that I had been locked up in my cabin for a very long time, perhaps I was writing some type of journal? I only put two and two together._

Her eyes narrowed at the text. What was this man going after?

 _You were probably expecting some deep, theological discussion in a book that's supposed to be about reforming the Chantry, but if you are still reading, you must find it acceptable that it not be so. But enough of me trying to analyze everything. I just wanted to say a few things to you, things which I think you need to hear._

Leliana was reluctant at first, but she slowly turned to the next page.

 _I find myself thinking of you, and our little talk, very often._

Leliana scoffed at what she believed to be mere flattery as her eyes skimmed over the text.

 _I think its because you seemed so sad. I don't like it when people who I care about are sad. I don't think you were always sad. I want you to be happy._

 _Maker, I wish I never started writing this, it'll probably do more harm than good. It'll probably make me look like a creep, but I have to finish now that I've begun._

 _I want to try and make you happy again._

Leliana looked up from the pages, she hesitated to look at the next page. This was not quelling that itch she felt, it in fact had the opposite effect on her. But she did look back down and turn the next page.

 _I wish I could have met you before this whole 'Inquisition' thing happened. I know that you'd still be with the Divine, but I think we still could have been friends. Somehow. At least that's what I would wanted to of happened, but if I've learned anything during my time in this world, it's that things usually don't work out the way I want them to._

 _On a side note, did you know that I use to be a passionate and positive person before? Now I'm just some nervous fool trying to make a pretty girl feel happy by writing to her, since I'm too much of a coward to say what I think about her face to face. And even then, here I sit, shaking at my desk as I write this._

 _Sorry. Excuse my self-loathing. If you haven't laughed off my pathetic attempt at making you feel better and are still reading, then you should know that I mean everything I have said, and more._

 _I don't know what I'm doing. This probably hasn't helped you at all. I've probably only made you feel worse. Or you've just put the book down already and I've made a fool of myself by wasting my time writing this. I still hope it helps you, because that is all I had ever hoped for really._

 _I probably won't be able to talk with you for a long time now that I've left Haven, so I hope this helps in case you miss me. Haha. Now I'm just making baseless assumptions. Anyway, its a long way home, and I hear Cassandra knocking on my door and calling my name. I hope we get to see each other again, Leliana._

Leliana stared at the page, for a moment she didn't know what to think. Then a voice in her head thought for her.

 ** _Holy shit!_ ** Leliana recognized it as the same voice that had spoken to her in Charles' cabin when she took the book from there in the first place. ** _I knew Charles had an obsession with lying and manipulating people, but this is next level exploitation right here!_**

She tried to ignore it and flipped to the next page, only to find that it was blank.

 ** _Oh I'm sorry, does what I say go against this romanticized image of the mighty Herald of Andraste that has grown like a tumor inside your head? What Charles says and acts as is not what he truly is, it is that simple_.**

It had been like this for days, the voice would ridicule her about Charles again and again until her head hurt. It made her wonder what the man had done to piss off... whatever the voice was. While the voice tried to seem calm and in control as he mocked Charles, she could tell that there was a fiery hatred for the Herald under his cold words.

 ** _You don't want to believe me. Do you? Stop ignoring me_!**

She had gotten use to its taunts and learned how to block them out, but it seemed that it had not gotten use to being ignored.

 ** _No, you're smart. You'll need more than my word for proof. I will show you him then._**

That got her attention. But before she could respond, the world around her turned black.

 ** _I will show you Carolus._**

* * *

Leliana awoke to find herself in what looked to be a indoor garden. The only source of light shown down through an open roof, illuminating two figures clashing their swords. One of them was taller and wore a black cloak, the other was shorter but wore a noble's tunic.

"You're a monster!" The smaller of the two roared at the larger as they crossed swords. From his voice, Leliana could tell that he was young, and that he'd been crying as his voice was incredibly hoarse. "You killed them! Mother, Father, even Catherine!"

"It appears you don't understand after all." The taller one snorted as he disarmed the shorter one, casting his sword to the side. "I did not light the fire, Charles."

"Who then?!" The boy, who Leliana now recognized to be a younger Charles, snarled. "Tell me, Uncle!"

"You are still young, Charles. You have much to learn, but today, you have made great progress in your training." As Charles' Uncle sheathed his sword, Leliana felt a strange feeling in her stomach. This feeling, it hurt her, took away her breath. It hurt her more than when she was almost crushed by the Ogre. It hurt her more than when Divine Justina died. It hurt her more than when Marjolaine betrayed her. She collapsed to her knees, clenching her stomach before she looked up and saw Charles doing the same.

"Today, you have taken the first step in the journey in breaking your chains and becoming free. The first link in your chains has been broken, and you were the one who snapped the rusted iron bond."

"No... I couldn't have, I was there with them! I tried to save them!" Charles said as he punched the garden-floor. Leliana saw a tear fall from his face and down to the grass. Then, an image of a family portrait flashed in her mind. She recognized the same young Charles that stood before her now. The portrait portrayed a man, a women, two young girls and two young boys, they looked like a normal, happy family.

"Of course you were there and tried to help, it was... necessary for drawing attention from yourself as a suspect."

 ** _He loved them. He still loves them. He will always love them. Why would he ever wish them dead?_ ** The voice from earlier echoed in her head as the portrait suddenly caught fire and shriveled away into ashes.

 ** _But he remembers... he remembers all of it. He remembers the anger, the raw emotion that caused his blood to boil. He remembers a voice calling to him, tempting him._**

"You killed them because I told you to. You killed them because what I offer you; the power I offer you. You killed them because when you could have warned them about what I really am and what I plan to do, when you could have saved them, you were thinking about yourself."

Charles' head looked back up at the robbed figure in front of him, his eyes were filled with horror as tears fell freely down his cheeks.

"And now, yourself is all you will ever have."

 _ **He then realized that there would be no investigation into who killed his family. That there would be no epic quest to find their killer. That there would be no dramatic reveal of his hidden identity. That there would be no final duel between him and the killer to avenge his Sister, his Mother, and his Father. That there was only him. Only Charles Trevelyan. It was all him. He did it. He lit the Trevelyan castle ablaze and killed his parents and one of his sisters. Only him**._

"There is only one path left for you now, Charles. You have been misled by the Chantry, you have not yet even begun to realize your full potential, but join me, and I will help you achieve your true power. Together we would be unstoppable. Together we can bring order to all of Thedas!"

"I'll never join you, Cato..." Charles' eyebrows narrowed and teeth grinded together in anger, "you Monster!" His sword, which had been previously knocked out of his hands, sprung up from the ground and flew back into his hand like magic. Leliana watched as Charles leaped at the cloaked man with his sword raised. Lightning shot out from the Cato's hands and stopped the boy mid-charge, again bringing Charles to his knees as lightning pulsed through him.

"Your feeble attempts of resistance mean nothing to me." Cato said as Charles tried to stand up, only to have another pulse of lightning send him back to his knees. "Your fate is not yet sealed. Your destiny lies with me, Charles. Don't make me destroy you."

Leliana felt like her entire body had just been set on fire, her muscles began to seize up, every nerve in her was buzzing in pain, and at the same time felt as if someone had punched a hole in her stomach as she watched this scene unfold before her.

"I'd rather die than join you. At least then, I'll be able to see Mother, Father, and Catherine again." Charles declared as he coughed out blood. (1)

"Your Father?" Cato snorted in disgust as he began to walk a circle around the kneeled Charles. "Then Gaius never told you about what you really are. He never told you what your true heritage is."

Leliana's ears seemed to stop working as she couldn't hear what Charles' Uncle said next. Perhaps... the voice didn't want her to hear.

 ** _In Charles' heart, there is a loneliness that neither praise nor blame can reach. The voice spoke up again. The voices in his head tell him so many different things, but they all try to guide him back to love, to make him believe that love is not dead, because his heart cannot bear the terror of the loneliest loneliness. But no matter how many voices in his head cry out for him, Charles only hears them as painful ringing, and will silence them. Because all he will ever truly have is himself._**

* * *

In the blink of an eye, Leliana found herself back in her bedroom at Haven.

 ** _Do you remember that feeling of pain that burned a hole in your stomach?_ The voice asked her.**

 ** _Do you remember the feeling of red hot fire that consumed you as you fell to your knees?_**

 ** _Do you remember the darkness that enveloped your heart and squeezed it until it was hollow and dry?_**

"Y-Yes..." Leliana struggled to speak as the memories of what happened moments ago washed over her, "I remember."

 ** _But there is so much that you don't remember, so much that you will never see, because Charles would not have you see it._**

 ** _He would not have you see the lasting thoughts and memories of past experiences that terrorize him at night._**

 ** _He would not have you see him beyond the lies which he uses to cover his blackened heart._**

 ** _He would not have you see him as anything more than the Herald of Andraste, a beacon of hope for all of Thedas to unite behind._**

 ** _He would not have you see any of him for what he truly is because, in reality, Charles Trevelyan is anything but the Herald of Andraste._**

 ** _And, in the end, no amount of glory, kinship, or love will ever change what he feels, what he has done, and what he will become._**

 ** _Because that empty hole that you felt in your stomach, that fiery pain you felt consume you as you fell to your knees, that darkness you felt enshroud your heart, under his blacken heart and broken mind, is what it feels like to be Charles Trevelyan._**

 ** _Forever._**

 _You're wrong._ Leliana got up from her bed and placed her hood over her head.

 ** _Oh really?_ ** The voice chuckled at her as she placed Charles' book back on the bedside table.

 _Yes, really._ She laughed off the voice's question. _I still don't have any reason to believe what a random voice, a figment of my imagination, has to say about Charles._ A long time ago, she might have believed that this voice was a sign from the Maker. But Leliana was not what she once was.

 ** _Oh come on!_** If it was actually a material being, Leliana swore the voice would have stomped its foot in anger. ** _You can't still believe in his lies and fake affections! He is using you, he is using Cassandra, he is using the Inquisition, he is using all of you! Once he gets what he wants he will toss you to the wind like he has done to so many others._**

 _Maybe he did lie._ Leliana opened the door to the Chantry's nave and turned towards the war room. _But I won't be taking your word for it. I will have to have firsthand experience._

 ** _And how do you plan on doing that?_**

 _They say that the heart never leaves home. I plan to see if that's true._ She opened the door to the war room to find Cullen staring at the map of Thedas that was laid across the war table.

"Commander," Placing her hands behind her back, she addressed him in a formal manner, "I have a... private, personal matter to attend to outside of Haven. I will be leaving for a number of days."

"Is this matter something which cannot be pushed back until later?" Cullen asked after he looked up from the war table. "The Inquisition is still fresh and young, we still need your help. Is whatever your leaving for worth it?"

Leliana paused before she replied and thought to herself, was it worth it? Was it worth leaving her post at the Inquisition to search in the past of some man who she had only met a mere few weeks ago? Was he worth it?

"Yes." She said, her eyes filled with a new determination that Cullen had not seen there before. "I'm sure of it."

"Be safe then, and come back soon." Cullen nodded his head to her before she took her leave.

 ** _You really think you'll find answers in Ostwick?_ ** That same voice from before spoke again.

 _I can get answers. Its what I've been trained to do my entire life._

 ** _But what if the answers you get are not the ones you want? What if you find something much darker than I've told you?_**

 _Is it better to be aware of a painful truth or bask in a blissful lie?_ Leliana asked as she made her way out of the Chantry and towards the stables. The horses there had arrived just a day ago, and she now would put them to good use.

 ** _I guess you'll find out soon enough._**

* * *

"Sera, wake up." She heard a voice, but she ignored its call for her. For a moment, it seemed it have worked and the voice went away, but the dirt that Sera felt kicked in her face did indeed cause her to awake fully. Sera sprang up and spat out any dirt that had gotten in her mouth and whipped her face clean.

"Who in Andraste's fat-" Sera began, but her breath stopped once she saw who had awoken her. Above her stood Charles, but the way he looked, it was... different. Instead of wearing the plain armor he did when she last saw him, Charles stood over her with a helmet that formed around his head with a part cut out for his ears and face, its golden trip complimented the black steel it was made from and and a blue plume that crested over his head. On his flowing blue and gold surcoat was emblazoned a symbol that she did not recognize: a white eagle, perched on what looked like a bundle of sticks, and encircled by a white laurel. However, it was not the intimidating helmet or the mysterious symbolism that made her feel something... different than what she felt when she first met the Herald.

Perhaps it was the way the sun illuminated his brunette hair. Unlike her somewhat unkempt and dirty blonde hair, his was parted to his left and cut short on the sides as he removed his helmet from his head. Perhaps it was his pinkish pale complexion. Unlike her freckled face, his was free of any blemishes or scars as it reflected the sun's light. Perhaps it was his celestial nose. Unlike her smaller and flatter nose, his was narrow and of moderate length. Perhaps it was his eyes. Unlike her eyes which were grey as storm clouds, his were blue as clear skies as they gleamed while looking at her. Perhaps it was his facial bone structure. More so than any she had seen before, his was carved and defined, especially in his jaw and high cheek bones. But for the first time in her life, Sera felt completely and utterly entranced by someone else.(2)

 _He's... beautiful._ For a moment Sera had to search her vocabulary for a way to describe what stood before her. The words that came to her mind as she drank in the sight of him;angelic, sublime, majestic, awe-inspiring, she had never used these words to describe someone before. What caused her to overlook these observations when she first met him?

 _Thank the Maker I'm not into 'hims', otherwise... wait a sec..._ Sera stopped her staring as she remember how he'd awoken her.

"Did you just bloody kick dirt in my face?!" She asked angrily.

"You're quite the observationist." He chucked softy at her anger before he offered her his hand. "You didn't seem to have any desire to get up, so all I did was give you a little motivation."

"A simple gentle tap on the shoulder would've done just fine." Grabbing his hand and pulling herself up on her feet, Sera came to the sudden realization that the Tavern they stayed at didn't have any dirt in it. "Wait, where are we?"

"You have eyes, Sera. Look for yourself, but just don't look down."

Sera rubbed her eyes and looked around her. Her blood ran cold as she realized that she was anywhere but the tavern she stayed in.

"A mountain... why am I on a mountain?!"

"Well..." Charles interrupted as she looked down the rocky path which they both stood on the top of. "You're not really on a mountain. This is all in your head, you're dreaming."

"Oh..." Sera felt her anger cool down for a few seconds, then immediately heat up again as more questions came to her mind. "Why are you here, in my mind?!"

"It's magic, I don't have to explain this shit!" He laughed off her question. "But, in all seriousness, it is quite roomy in here. I'm sure there is enough room for another."

"You can't do that!" Sera's face was beginning to turn red, he wasn't taking her seriously, she could tell by the amusement in his smile. He was playing with her while she was confused, and that made her furious. "You can't just enter someone's dreams without any explanation on how or why you did so!"

"I guess your right." Charles sighed and placed his helmet back on his head before he turned away from her and began to walk up the mountain. "Come, let's walk and I'll explain."

"Do you recognize these mountains?" He asked as she stumbled to catch up to him. Before she could say no, he answered for her. "You're on the Vimmarks, Sera. More specifically, the part of the Vimmarks that tower north of Ostwick."

"You still haven't explained how you got in my head or why your showing me this!" Sera exclaimed.

"Let's just say that I have a gift." Charles again brushed off her first question. "And as for why I take you where I take you, it is only for a few, simple questions." He stopped his ascent up the mountain path. The wind picked up, the skies turned black and began to pour rain hard unto the mountain side which Sera stood on. Bolts of lightning cracked in the air around her as Sera slipped as the ground under her turned to mud. A hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, catching her before she fell.

"Tell me, Sera," Charles began as he pulled her back on her feet, "What do you know of the mountain?" He did not let go of her hand as he led her up the mountain path towards the peak.

"I know that it's not the ideal place to be during a storm!" She shouted through the heavy rain pounding the mountain path they were on.

"Fine, you big baby." Charles rolled his eyes changed directions towards a place where they would be safe from the weather.

"I still don't get it!" Sera was still baffled as she and Charles took refuge under a rock shelter. "How are you doing this, how are you in my head?"

"Fine, I'll tell you." Sitting himself down on a rock, Charles relented to her. "But only because no one will ever believe you. Technically, I'm not doing any of this magic stuff, I'm not a mage. Have you ever heard of a Spirit Warrior, Sera?"

"Nope." Replied Sera as she took a seat of her own next to Charles.

"A warrior makes a deal with a spirit in where the spirit will enchant the mortal abilities of the warrior in exchange for a glimpse of the world outside of the fade. I am using said abilities to do what I'm doing now. That is also why you have no control over your dream." Charles explained as the rain still poured down outside.

"A warrior who needs magic? Seems like you're compensating for something." Sera chuckled at his explanation.

"Ouch. Your words cut me ever so deep." Charles said with sarcasm as he stood up and began to gather sticks he found around the rock shelter they were under.

"What are you doing now?" She asked.

"Making fire. What else do you do when you're stuck indoors during a cold and wet storm?" He responded as he placed the sticks in a pile.

"Well excuse me for not being some kind of mountain expert!" Sera raised her voice as she realized just how cold the air around them was and began to shiver. "It's not like I have control over any of this crap, and if I did we certainly wouldn't be on a mountain! Again, why are we even here to begin with?"

"Well you see," Charles reached and removed his helmet and placed it on the ground next to the rock he sat on, "I had this whole charismatic speech planned out about mountain peaks, about a higher form of being, about seeing the lower when you stand on the highest, all spiritual crap like that. But apparently Mother Nature didn't agree, she isn't my biggest fan. Anyways, I thought you elves were into mountains and things of nature?"

"Oh please." She scoffed at his stereotyping. "Just because I'm an elf doesn't mean I have to like all that is 'elfy'. I prefer the cities any day to nature."

"That's a very silly position to take," Charles picked up a small rock and began to bang it against the wall of their shelter, "especially considering you had been staying in Denerim." He spat out the city's name like it was poison.

"What's wrong with Denerim?" Sera asked as Charles' rock hitting the wall produced a spark, which then landed upon the pile of sticks which he had gathered earlier, igniting them into a fire.

"The same thing that is wrong with most large cities." The warmth of the fire gave Sera a feeling of bliss as she listened to Charles. "They are grey and miserable. The buildings are bleak, but the people are bleaker. Black, faceless masses move up and down the streets, their necks bent and backs slumped. Children stand on the sides of the streets, their eyes red from tears wept over having to beg for food for their empty stomachs. Old men and women sit out in the sun on rocking chairs with wrinkled faces and greyed hair, waiting for death to take them, some more eager than others for that ever so sweet release. Yonder sunlight has died, and evening spreads its black wings over the city. The candlelight shines down from the houses and apartments and illuminates the misery and filth of the streets. Women are pimped and dragged around the alleyways. Men sit with their bodies rested against the walls, their minds consumed by alcohol and other self-indulgences as they lie in puddles of their own decadence and depravity. Pleasure and torment have never before been more intertwined than they are in those urban abominations."

"I almost spent my entire life in Ostwick. However, I got tired of the big cities. The lights, the buildings, the people, it all made me so despondent about everything. Sometimes I would be afraid to get out of bed in the morning. There would be nothing to get up for."

"Why did you stay then?" The blissful feeling that Sera felt before was gone, replaced with something else, a sort of dark fascination as she questioned Charles. The man carried himself with overflowing vitality, but at the same time seemed to carry such heavy burdens too. The Herald of Andraste had truly caught her eye, by means she herself did not fully comprehend. "You could've left, I'm sure there would have been other places which would accepted you." She chose her words carefully, hoping to curve some of the melancholy in his own words.

"I stayed because I hated it." Sera's eyebrows rose as his tone suddenly turned from low and melancholic to sneering hot venom. "I hated the people and their self-destructive addictions.. I hated the contaminated art, literature, and theater, how it made a mockery of natural feeling, how it overthrew any concept of beauty and sublimity, and instead dragged men down into hedonism. I hated the people's pacifism, which, in all actuality, was a flower-decorated mask to hide their cowardice and defeatism. I hated the masses and their political cries for 'representation' and 'self-rule'. In their empty heads, a thousand fools would run a city better than single genius. I hated, hated and hated more and more with each passing day. But there is… strength in hatred, it can serve as a great motivation for men to achieve many things, many things which some consider to be impossible. I rode the tiger of power in Ostwick and now... Ostwick is a very different place than it was hitherto."

"How's it different? What changed?" Sera asked as she looked at Charles across the flames that stood between them.

"Tell you what, Sera, when we get to Ostwick, I'll take you on a grand tour of the city. Just you and me, how does that sound?"

"Uh..." She didn't know what to say. Why would he want to do that with her? And that brought another question to her head, why was he doing any of this? He was a nobleman, the aristocrat, and she was a city-elf, the peasant.

"Why are you doing this to me?" She blurted out and stood up from the rock set sat on.

"Doing what?" The innocent way in which Charles asked her only frustrated her further.

"You know exactly what!" Her eyes narrowed at his supposed cluelessness as she walked around the fire so that nothing was between the two. "Being open about your past with me, offering to take me place being... nice, it's... it's..."

"Ah, I see." Charles stood up, making Sera have to look up as he was by far superior to her in terms of height. "I am sorry if I have somehow offended you..." Sera felt her stomach sink as she saw him attempt to stay stoic, but the sorrow in his blue eyes shown through his mask. "I will retire my efforts." He said and turned his back to her.

"No!" Exclaimed Sera as she grabbed his shoulders and turned him back around. "That's not what's wrong, what's wrong is you're not offensive enough!" Charles' confusion at this statement was signified by a single raised eyebrow as Sera still had her hands on his shoulders. "You... you're a human, a noble at that, and I'm an elf! You're not supposed to be open about your past and feelings with me. You're supposed to look down on elves, not promise to take me to faraway places. You're supposed to act all high and mighty, not warm-hearted. You're supposed to call me names like knife-ear and insult me about my uneven hair and freckled face!"

"But... I like those things." His hands reached for hers, which still rested on his shoulders. "I like your small freckles," He intertwined their fingers and lifted her hand off of him and moved them down against her face, "I like your messy hair," then up against her hair, " I like your pointed ears too." He moved her hands over the sensitive points of her ears, that part of her that she never let anyone near, but right now, she couldn't move, something made her want to stay still. Her eyes shut tight as her entire body tensed and quivered as she felt his thumbs rub against the tips of her pointed ears. "If I like these things, if I like you, is there any harm in us being... well, not being at each others throats because you're an elf and I'm not?"

"No," Sera sighed and opened her eyes, "There's not." The storm outside had passed and in its place the sun cast its rays on the two of them. "I... I'm sorry. What I said was dumb... I was dumb, stupid. I misjudged you, I was wrong. You're not like the other nobles I've met, you're..." She paused, trying to formulate an adjective that fit him. There were many things that came to her mind, but when she opened her mouth to talk, the words she wished to say to him were caught stuck in her throat.

"Look," Sera abandoned what she wanted to say, "can we just get over all of this mushy-mushy stuff and get back to fighting bad guys?"

"Sure," Charles chuckled and let go of her hands, "as long as you don't think of me as the 'evil power hungry noble' anymore, I think we're good."

"Aw," Sera faked a pout, "that was going to be my nickname for you! Now I'll have to come up with something else." She scratched her chin for a moment. "How about... Prince!"

"I'm pretty sure noble and prince are synonymous, Sera." Charles smiled.

"Yeah, well maybe, but I got rid of all the bad adjectives this time." She smiled back.

"Hmm…" He contemplated it for a second before approving, not like it would matter anyway, she would be calling him 'Prince' whether he liked it or not. "I'll allow it." Sera could have swore that his ice-like eyes, that sent chills down her spine when they first met, turned a shade lighter than before, and were now warmer to her

* * *

"The Senate will hear Marcus Trevelyan."

The Senate House then filled with cries, some of protest, some of protest of the protests. Marcus sighed while sweat ran down his forehead as he stood before two hundred of Ostwick's most influential people. Nobles, and some Merchants, all stood dressed in the same white robe that all senators were required to wear when the Senate was in session. This was it, on this day, he would either be remembered as a hero of liberty and freedom, or as a traitor that stood against the greatest hero of Ostwick. On this senate floor, he would have to convince the entire chamber to side with him against his brother, against Charles, if he tried to seize power once he returned for Cato's funeral. Helen had already gotten a fair amount of Senators to side with him already, but Marcus knew that if they were to have any chance at stopping Charles, he would need the absolute support of every Senator in Ostwick, and then some.

"My friends," He began, thankful that his voice did not crack or stutter as the Senators calmed themselves and shifted their eyes to him, "You all know of my brother. He has brought great glory to our city, won its wars no matter how greatly the odds may be stacked against him. But, as much as we love him for these great deeds, we must remember that our duty is not to Charles Trevelyan, but to Ostwick. And then we must ask ourselve, what has Charles Trevelyan done to Ostwick? The other city-states within the Free Marcher Confederation now see Ostwick as expansionist and power-hungry and a threat to their sovereignty, this is due to him, to Charles and his warmongering! The once piety people of Ostwick no longer worship the Maker. Instead of going to the Chantry to pray on their knees, thousands of citizens stand tall at Carolean Rallies, where blaring and stirring martial songs play, where banners of his unique coat of arms are held high, where the armies he commanded across the Virrmarks walk in line with measured steps with said banners, where bonfires are lit in honor of the fallen, and where Charles himself delivers many lengthy orations to his followers. Allow me to read back to you one of his speeches."

A servant walked up to Marcus and handed him a paper, which he then looked at and began to read off of.

"My comrades, today, we do not ask to be judged by the Senate, but rather we wish to inform them of a certain reality. In the most recent senatorial session, I suggested that, in order to have a well-functioning and stable government, the Senate must resign its legislative power. For too long they have argued and argued while getting nothing done and passing no meaningful laws. This problem was said clearly and definitively by yours truly in my address to them. The senate is of course goes unpunished when they ignore this issue, as they do with any matter that needs to be well-attended to for the public good, for your good! Whatever will happen in the coming days, we want not to hear anymore of brotherhoods, sisterhoods, cousinhoods, or any other types of family relationships with the Senate. Because the relations between political entities are not ones of brotherhoods, sisterhoods, etc, etc, but relations of strength, and in these strength relations lie the cause behind all policy made by the state. The Senate should take care, for one day our patience will run dry and we will show the Senate who holds the strength in Ostwick, and then the foul, bold-faced Senators will have their lying, filth spewing mouths shut once and for all. But today is not the Senate's day, today is your day, your great day... with your bravery, with your sacrifice, and with your devotion, every day is your day as you give a mighty push to the wheel of history, spinning it with such force that it shakes the very foundation of the universe and causes all of mankind to stand back in stupefaction."

"Now I shall ask you: Do you want your pockets to be filled with gold?"

"No!" Marcus read the crowd's reply.

"Do you want a cozy bed to sleep in?"

"No!"

"Do you want to bask in your own filth while calling it 'pleasure'?"

"No!"

"Does the impossible exist for you?"

"No!"

"What are those three sacred words that, when unified, form our doctrine?"

"Believe!"

"Obey!"

"Fight!"

"Since the beginning of time, these words have, and always will hold the secret to every victory! My brothers, let us forever live with a dagger between our teeth, a bloodied sword in our hands, and a never-ending scorn in our hearts!"

Marcus looked up from Charles' speech at the Senators before he crumpled the paper in his hands. "My friends, I will tell you why he has made such an effort to indoctrinate our people with militarism and why he has waged war against our brother Free Marcher cities. Charles Trevelyan, my brother, wants to crown himself with absolute power and rule over not only Ostwick, but all of the Free Marches, and maybe even all of Thedas if possible! He wants to destroy any traces of democracy and peace, and rule as a bloody tyrant!" He took a moment to gather his breath before he continued.

"...That is why I propose a motion: if Charles Trevelyan, upon his short return to Ostwick, shows any signs of plotting to overthrow Ostwick's existing government, the Triumvirate, the Teyrn, or the Senate, he will be declared a public enemy of the Senate and People of Ostwick. After which time, it will be the duty and obligation of every Ostwick citizen to do him harm and, if possible, kill him!"

The senate floor was silent for a moment before an older man, who too wore white robes as the rest of them did, only on his there was a single red stripe on his robe, spoke up. "A motion is proposed. Those in favor, make it known."

First stood the left side of the Senate house. Marcus predicted this beforehand, they were primarily the merchants who had positions Senate. Charles threatened their hold on Ostwick's economy, so it didn't take much convincing from Marcus or Helen to make them stand against Charles. Then stood the right side rows of Senators, they were nobles just like him and Charles. An absolute monarch, de-facto or not, certainly would be a threat to their power, so they also stood against Charles.

"The motion stands."

Marcus closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh, he had done it. He had managed to unite Ostwick's nobility and Merchant class against Charles. All he hoped for now was that it, and what other plans and resources that he and Helen had gathered, would be enough to stop Charles from doing what he did best:

Ruling.

* * *

1\. While I understand that there is no clear outline of the Chantry's belief in Heaven or Hell, in Awakening Justice says that mortal souls are 'taken elsewhere'. While he doesn't know where to, it seems it's a place beyond the reach of spirits.

2\. The meaning behind this passage was to firmly establish Charles' appearance. Looks sorta like a swede cus he is based off a swede king, but not entirely.


	8. Man of War

"So, do you really believe that there is really a Herald of Andraste out there?" A silver-clad guard asked his fellow guard as they stood outside the royal armory, standing guard in the dead of night as to fend off any thieves.

"I can't say for sure, but I've heard this Herald guy is the same person who started a war a while back in the Free Marches. I don't know whether that makes him better suited for the role or not." His friend said as he scratched the chin of his helmet.

"It'll be so much better."

The two guards snapped out of their conversation and turned to see a man standing down the hallway in front of them. His face was covered by a simple black mask that had no patterns or details besides two eyehole cutouts, which the man's bright blue eyes shown through.

"Sir, you can't be here at this hour. I'm going to have to ask you to-" Before the guard could speak his request of the stranger, he disappeared into thin air before him.

"Well, that was easy." He laughed and turned his head back to his fellow guardsmen, only to find that his friend's neck had been twisted at an unnatural angle as he fell with a thump to the floor.

"Ouch. I don't think necks are meant to turn that way."

He heard the same voice from before laugh behind him, but before he could react the guard met a similar fate to his friend. His body flopped to the floor before the man reached down and picked his pocket for the key to the armory.

"And that is definitely how you do _not_ guard an armory filled with royal artifacts." The man laughed as he turned around and unlocked the door to the armory.

The man reached to take off his mask as the door slid open, revealing his fair skin, high bridged and narrow nose, and soft textured, light brown hair.

 _It feels like home already._ Charles laughed in his head as his eyes flickered around the armory, his lips almost salivating at the sight of the Ferelden Monarchy's most treasured items. He made his way over towards to what he recognized as King Maric's sword.

 _Oh beautiful golden blade, how long has it been since worthy hands grasped your hilt? How could you bring spoils and victories when left to decay as you are now? For one only lives when at war_.

Charles picked up the blade and slid it in his own empty sheath before he looked over to the personal battle armor of the King himself. It's golden plates reflected in his eyes.

 _How long since a worthy king wore your shine into battle? How could you shine in constant peace, shine without the struggle for always more? For when man is at peace he is dead._

His eyes flickered over to Cailan's shield next.

 _How long since your heavy metal boss fell the true foes of your Kingdom? For what great banner do you stand for in your idleness? Why do you rest like the dead?_

He picked up the shield and pulled Maric's blade from its sheath and crossed an 'X' on the Heraldry on it with the sword before throwing the shield to the floor.

 _That's better._

Charles looked over to the final item in the room: the crown. It sat on a jeweled pedestal in the center of the room, but dust had overtaken its radiating golden color.

 _For far too long have you priceless pieces been left not to blaze, but to smolder; not to burn, but to fade into haze._

He sighed as his fingers traced over the glass box that the crown was held in.

 _But worry not, dear crown. Soon you will sit upon the head of a new king, one who does not lead his army into destruction against darkspawn nor one who is too naïve and stupid to realize the weakness of his neighbor and capitalize on the opportunity that is presented in their state of civil war. One far younger and more capable._

Charles was brought out of his thoughts by the sounds of footsteps in the hallway behind him.

 _One last thing before I go._ He smirked at the royal banner that hung on the wall behind the crown.

The guards who were alerted by the sound of a shield falling had rushed to check and see what had occurred. They were greeted by the sight of two of their fellow guardsmen laying dead on the floor in front of the royal armory, and inside, they found that King Maric's sword had been stolen, the Heraldry on Cailan's shield had been scratched over, and the royal banner that showed the Theirin coat of arms had been ripped in two and dropped down to the floor.

A figure watched them through a window as they ran out of the armory and began to shout alerts through the castle that someone had stolen Maric's sword and defiled the royal armory.

Charles grinned from cheek to cheek under his mask as he imagined the look on the King's face.

 _Don't worry, Alistair, soon I'll be back for the rest of your treasures. All that is thine shall be mine... whoa, that rhymed. Sweet._

"Hey! What in the Maker's name are you doing up here this late!?" He heard a voice call out to him. The nightwatch guard had no idea what he had come across, but that did not matter to Charles. As quick as lightning, he unsheathed the golden sword which he had just stolen and threw it across the roof and into the guard's chest, killing him instantly.

"Man oh man, I'm liking this thing already!" Charles laughed out loud and as he walked over to the body and pulled his new favorite sword from the bleeding abdomen of the dead guard.

Charles almost felt bad for the King. Almost. He would not only wake up to find that his Grandfather's sword had been stolen, but soon he would begin to lose his grip on the entire Kingdom.

"Ah... good times." He was happy that he could do this and get into a certain sleeping elf's head back at the tavern at the same time. "Stealing a priceless weapon and working my way into the dreams, hearts, and minds of those around me so I can secure their loyalty to me through affection and a pinch of fear... now that's what I call multitasking!"

 _A new era is drawing near_ , Charles reflected on the state of Thedas as he made his way down from the rooftop, _and I shall be the one who sits at the helm._

 _Soon the crowns of Ferelden, Orlais, Tevinter, the Anderfels, Nevarra, Antiva, shall all find their place upon my head. The Chantry will swear their oaths to me, I shall swear no oath. I did not take the crown from them, but from the Maker himself. They will say my name when they pray, only then shall my power be divine. My will shall be the will of God, and death shall follow all who question me. The art of war I have mastered, and my name shall spread fear among those who do not drop to their knees at its sound. Proven by deeds in war and statesmanship, my time is now. I was born to rule, who shall stop me, the Herald of Andraste? All of Thedas will kneel before Carolus Rex. It will all be mine. All I need to do now is work on my maniacal laughter._ (1)

* * *

Varric was a simple man. He had very few things on his list of 'need to have'. One of those things was his friends. He had made sure that they would be kept safe after they left Kirkwall, yet, somehow, they had ended up with him again. But this time there was more danger than when they were together in Kirkwall.

This time there was Charles.

After the Mage Rebellion started, his information network began to fall apart, but those whispers at the Hanged Man still told him much. There was a war, a war of which the details he knew little of, but it was a war that involved almost all of the Free Marcher cities east of Kirkwall. Apparently it was four against one, and the alone city came out on top.

How? The stories he heard varied, but the darkest ones told of the Ostwick General engulfing everything south of Ansburg and north of the Vimmarks except the cities themselves in a blazing inferno that left no farm or town unscorched. After that, the General went ahead of his orders from the Teyrn of Ostwick and negotiated the terms of surrender and war reparations by himself, both of which politically humiliated and economically ruined the defeated cities. He walked away from the table of peace with beaucoup spoils of war, with more gold than his carriages could carry, with precious metals and jewels, with famous works of art and beautiful statues, and most importantly, with the civic pride of Ansburg, Markham, Hercinia, and Wycome crushed under his heel.

This General, this beast in the shape of a man, had many different names, but it seemed as if his most popular title now was the Herald of Andraste.

All of that could have been simply rumors, but still, Varric did not trust Charles. So he would much prefer it if his friends left as soon as they reached Ostwick.

"I swear, you have the nicest hair, Prince."(2)

Varric was snapped out of his train of thought by Sera talking to Charles. The eight of them, Charles, Varric, Sera, Isabela, Cassandra, Solas, Fenris, and Merrill had managed to acquire a ship to Ostwick with the help of Isabela's persuasive talents. The captain, persuaded by Isabela's sweet talking, had allowed them to stay in a cabin large enough to hold all eight of them.

"My hair? I... I never really have been complimented on my hair. Are you being serious?" Charles doubted her kind remark. Varric's eyes narrowed at the city elf and the noble, the two had seemingly become best friends overnight, the former even giving the latter a nickname. Varric wondered how it had happened, what caused the two of them to share such warm smiles as they sat next to each other. He also knew that he wasn't the only one who had questions. Cassandra, who sat on a chair next to Varric, watched the two with great suspicion, and other stronger emotions.

"Of course I am! Why would I ever lie to you?" Sera asked, sounding somewhat offended at his suggestion.

Charles seemed to be amused at the question, his lips curving into a grin. "Oh, of course not. What was I ever thinking, an elven rogue that lies? Preposterous!" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I-I..." Sera's face turned red as she stumbled over her words. "I already told you, I'm not like those other elves!"

"You told me that you're not like the Dalish. Now you're not like 'elves' in general? Keep it up with that attitude and your ears might start to shrink." He chuckled at her individuality.

"It's the environment we are raised in that determines how we end up when we grow older, and I was raised by humans. So we really aren't _that_ different." Sera bickered with him, Charles laughter came to a halt. The sounds of the world around them, the soft crashing of waves against their ship, the feet of the crew outside their cabin running around the deck, even the feeling of the eyes of others watching them, all that seemed to disappear from around them.

"Sera, I believe that we have formed a very strong bond of friendship in the short time we've known each other, and I greatly appreciate your companionship and hope that it will last, but let me make one thing perfectly clear." Charles leaned into her ear and whispered softly so that no one but her would hear him. "We are nothing alike, and we never will be."

"Why not?" Sera protested and moved her head back, but not far enough back to sever the tension between her and Charles.

Charles scoffed at her question. "If I have to explain that, then you really have not been paying attention at all." He sighed and leaned back. "Look, let's just drop this subject for now and try to not attract too much attention to ourselves. Just pretend this never happened, and I'll pretend you just told me some kind of joke. Ok?"

"Ok." Sera agreed, but in the back of her head, the flame of her interest in the man who had just rejected her now burned more intensely than ever before.

 _You can't hide yourself, Prince. Not from me._

* * *

Cassandra thought hate was a strong word, but she had no trouble using it when the circumstances sought fit, and said circumstances did fit the feeling she felt right now. She watched as Charles stood next to that _elf_. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Charles whispering something into Sera's ear she couldn't hear.

It didn't make any sense to her that these two polar opposites, rich and poor, human and elf, could stand together and laugh and talk to each other like they had been friends for years when they'd only met a day ago.

Charles was the pragmatist. The calm and calculating noble who had worked in the political system of his home city for years. He lived off the taxes raised from people like Sera and spent his entire life around the aristocracy of Ostwick.

Sera was the idealist. The bold and loudmouthed rogue who worked with an organization that was dedicated to overthrowing the very system Charles had been apart of since his birth. She stole from people like Charles and spent her entire life around people that would kill the same man that she now shared laughs with like any other.

Sera _fought_ the power and Charles _was_ the power.

It made Cassandra confused. What about her made him smile? Why didn't he cringe at her brashness, crudeness, and sassy attitude like any other noble would? But more than confusion, she felt anger as he laughed as Sera told him a probably crude joke.

"You two seem to get along great." Cassandra blurted out loud, making both Sera and Charles turn their eyes to her.

"I know. It's crazy, right? I never thought I would ever get along with such a harebrained _knife ear_." Charles laughed off her question, his insult to Sera clearly said with a joking tone.

Sera frowned and turned her head back to Charles. "And I'm surprised I can be friends with such a _pompous tit_!" She socked him in the shoulder, but Charles did not even flinch at her hit, which only caused him to laugh even harder.

Cassandra glared at the playful pair. She fumed at how they ignored the meaning behind her question and simply continued to laugh and talk with each other, like there wasn't anyone else in the room with them, like she wasn't there. It made her want to leave, but before she could stand up from the chair she sat in, another voice spoke up.

"Charles, if you don't mind, I have to ask something." Varric chimed in. Cassandra also noticed that he did not give Charles a nickname like he did for everyone else.

"I'm an open book, Varric." Charles assured him as he calmed his laughter with Sera.

"I've been told that you were very much involved in the War of Five. Is there any chance that you'd be willing to share some stories? I've heard it was quite the miracle that your city came out on top."

Cassandra's mood brightened a bit as she heard Varric's question. She had been curious about this as well, but she was always reluctant to ask Charles about his experience in war. She knew that war could cause the deaths of entire populations of peoples, but what it could do to the men who lived through its horrors could be far worse.

"Most of that is classified information," Charles hummed, "but since I like you guys, I'll share one. It'll help pass the time to Ostwick as well."

"The veteran general tells us of one of his battles." Isabela broke in to their talk from across the room, she and Merrill both sat on the only bed in the room. "I have to hear this one." Cassandra noticed that by now the eyes of the entire room were on Charles just as Isabela's were. Cassandra thought that he might have felt uncomfortable at the attention, or maybe even enjoy it, but Charles simply closed his eyes and recalled.

* * *

Dawn broke over the vast, long field that separated the opposing armies; the Caroleans of Ostwick at one end, and the Peasant Rebels of the Free Marches on the other. On Ostwick's side, a banner flew that showed the newly adopted symbol of Charles' choice to represent Ostwick's power: an eagle. On the other side of the field, the rebels had chosen a lion as the symbol to place on their banners.

The coalition of cities that formed against Ostwick had long since pled for peace, their armies defeated, Generals hanged, and survivors in chains. Markham, Hercinia, Wycome, Ansburg, each of them capitulated to the commander from the southern maritime city, but their people still stood strong and ready to fight the invaders.

 _In hindsight, maybe asking for all their gold to help build my statue wasn't the best idea._ Charles, dressed in his blue paludamentum, thought as he observed the hordes of peasants that had gathered to oppose him from atop of his white horse, Bucephalus.

His demands were harsh, but only because he knew that there would be no one to challenge him, or at least no one who could and win. That, and these cities needed to learn that there was a new powerhouse in the Free Marcher confederation. This war, Charles hoped, would be a good lesson.

That is why the news of the peasants from all four cities, who's official armies he had already fought and overcome, rising up against him only caused him to laugh as he basked in the riches, art, goods, and precious metals which he made the defeated cities bring to his feet.

He had grew up with his mother telling him stories of how the Ferelden Rebels under King Maric ousted the Orlaisian Empire from their land, of how it was their righteous cause of freedom that gave them the advantage against the foreign oppressors. Now Charles would get to see for himself if those romantic tales held any truth, see if an army led by and for the people would triumph over their country's foes no matter what the odds.

He doubted it.

The army that opposed him carried iron swords, daggers, and some spears. Mostly weapons they'd either made personally or bought for a cheap price. Their armor was composed of lose leather skins and poorly made iron chest plates, some didn't even bother with armor and just wore their everyday normal clothes.

In complete contrast, at the other end of the field, the Caroleans were armed to the teeth with the finest armor and weapons that Ostwick's citizens' taxes could pay for.

Each Carolean was clad in identical steel armor to the man next to him. His flexible cuirass, made of metal strips, protected his shoulders and torso. On his head he wore a heavy steel helmet that covered his entire head save his face. On his feet he wore sandals with nails sticking out of the bottom as to help him keep his stance. He carried in his arsenal a huge rectangular shield which covered almost his entire front, a javelin or two strapped to his back, and a small short sword. The highly trained and disciplined Caroleans were a reflection of everything the rowdy Peasant Army were not. Order against chaos, experience against foolishness, discipline against wildness, those two forces would meet on the field of battle today.

Charles would have been completely confident of his victory if it weren't for one not so small difference between the two forces: The numbers.

It was ten to one. Twenty-five thousand to two hundred fifty thousand to be specific. Obviously he was the one with the numerically inferior army, Charles couldn't remember the last battle he fought where the playing field was fair and even. More than a quarter million men and women were arranged for battle on that field.

He frowned as he watched the leader of the Peasant Rebels ride back and forth across the field on a chariot in front of her mockery of an army. Maire was the name that his officers had told him that she went by. Her flowing red hair reached down to her back as her chariot slowed down in front of her army. He might of found her attractive if she had not been the one who had originally rallied the peasants to revolt against him. For that, he would make sure her death was a slow and painful one.

 _Maybe crucifixion? Haven't done that in a good while._ Charles contemplated the question of how to punish Maire. His thoughts were interrupted as Maire's massive army of peasants moved into position. Charles knew he couldn't extend his line the full length of the field, even if the men were drawn out one deep, it would still not be enough. The rebels on the other end of the field began to work themselves up into a fighting frenzy; screaming battle cries, banging their swords against their shields, doing anything that they thought would give themselves motivation for when the time came to charge. His forces, however, were stood completely motionless and silent in their shield wall.

 _Can't go back to Ostwick after this. No, I've gone too far now, killed to many people, destroyed too many armies, done to much to go back without a triumph._ Charles knew that it was all or nothing, win or die, and every soldier there with him that day knew it as well.

"Caroleans," Charles turned around on Bucephalus and faced his men, his voice booming over the battle cries of their enemies, "before us stands an army of savages, barbarians, and degenerates. I will not lie, they outnumber us greatly, and normal men would flee at such numbers. Will you?"

"No!" His soldiers cried out.

"That is why you are no normal men, you are Caroleans. Your intense physical and mental training has transformed you into the most feared military force Thedas has ever had the privilege of having march over her. You were superior to the enemies that stood against you before, just as you are superior to the ones that stand against you today. Stay in line, use your shields to fall them, then swords to kill them. Obey my commands, and today you will show the entire world what will become of those who dare stand against Ostwick. God with us." Their leader had spoken, the thousands of Caroleans, dressed in their heavy armor uniforms, bowed their heads all at once and repeated his words.

"God with us."

Along the opposing army, Maire also gave a final encouragement to her warriors before the battle began. "On this spot, we must either conquer or die with glory. We are not bred for war, we did not train for this, but war has come to us. If this battle is won, if this army that stands before us is destroyed, we will be written down in history as heroes. But I'm not fighting for some historian a hundred years from now to speak good of me, I'm fighting as an ordinary person for my lost freedom, my impoverished city, my bruised body, and my defiled daughters, all of which were caused by the yoke of the man who we face in battle today." She turned her chariot to face towards the Caroleans across the field.

"Hear me, Carolus Rex! Your reign of terror is at an end! Your unholy war is done for!"

The Peasant Army exploded down the long field towards the Caroleans, shouting, screaming, bearing their teeth and swords as they did so, but the Caroleans stood motionless as their enemies grew closer and closer.

The thunderous charge of hundreds of thousands of men and women, of humans, elves, dwarfs, and even qunari, pounded against their ears, but the Caroleans stood firm as a single drummer boy played for them from behind their line.

"Men of Ostwick, march to glory. Victory is hovering over ye." The blonde haired child sung in high pitch.

Charles closed his eyes, his heart sunk in his chest as he realized that the boy's father must have been there in the ranks of armored men before him. The image of father and son falling on this field, slaughtered without mercy by the savage rebels, filled his mind and weighed down on his heart.

"Bright-eyed freedom stands before ye, Hear ye not her call?"

But even when his father's army was faced with a force more than ten times their size, the young and bright-eyed boy stayed with him and continued to sing for his greatest heroes: the Caroleans. That loyalty, that devotion, _that love_ , stroked Charles' heart. From the white hot coals at the base of his soul, Charles' spirit was renewed by the song and dedication of the drummer boy with fire greater than ever before, and began to sing with him.

"At your sloth she seems to wonder; Rend the sluggish bonds asunder, Let the war-cry's deafening thunder. Every foe appall."

The heads of his officers began to turn at the sound of their general's voice singing along with the drummer boy, but they too began to sing.

"Echoes loudly waking, Hill and valley shaking; 'Till the sound spreads wide around."

Their song grew louder and louder as the rebels grew nearer and nearer. Soon, the entire army combined into one single voice.

"The enemy's courage breaking; Your foes on every side assailing, Forward press with heart unfailing, 'Till invaders learn with quailing, Ostwick never can yield!"(3)

So valiant was their spirit when facing such hordes of foes, so loud was the volume of their combined voices, that their song slowed the speed and momentum of their enemy's charge. With his own army's morale cultivated, and his enemy's broken, Charles' eyes shot open. The time to strike was now.

Charles gave the command to his officers to tell the Caroleans to release their spears, and his Caroleans obeyed, launching the first set of javelins at the charging peasants as they ran into range. With most of them lacking actual body armor, the thousands of spears found their homes in the chests, legs, arms, and even some of the heads of the charging army. The Caroleans then picked up their second set of spears and quickly launched them into the line of peasant warriors running down the battlefield. The front row of the rebels had been decimated by the onslaught of missiles. Many lied dead, but others who had used their shields to block the blow now found themselves defenseless, unable to use their shield as it now had a spear stuck in it. Propelled back by the deadly javelins, the first wave of rebels retreated back before they had even reached the line of Caroleans, running back over the thousands of bodies that the javelins had torn through.

"Be not afraid of these steel-clad men who hide behind their shields! Let us show them what courage is!" Maire shouted from her chariot as she held her sword above her head, signaling for another charge to commence.

A second wave of rebels exploded down the field over the bodies of those who had charged with just as much zeal as they did. This time, the peasants crashed into a wall of shields held by the heavily armored Caroleans. The Caroleans stood still in their shield wall, keeping their formation in absolute discipline and control even as tens of thousands of rebels descended upon them. Despite the inferior numbers, their line was impenetrable.

The Carolean strategy consisted of continually alternating the front line of warriors. The soldier in the front line thrust his enemy back with his large shield and stabbed him with his short sword, but he could only do this for a particular amount of time. When his stamina had been depleted, the man behind would be moved up to take his place as the exhausted Carolean who had been fighting moved to the back of the line of soldiers behind him. This process repeated and repeated for hours and hours, until the thousands of rebel bodies that littered the battlefield turned into tens of thousands. Again and again the peasants would charge the Carolean shieldwall, repeating the same strategy over and over, only to be again and again forced back. The only other tactic which they possessed was one on one combat against a single enemy soldier, and the Caroleans and their Commander certainly weren't playing that game. Time after time, forced their enemies back to the line. Seven times they attacked that day, seven times they retreated.

Charles watched over the battle from behind the line of his Caroleans, reinforcing any part of the line that looked as if it would break with more troops whenever he thought necessary.

 _Been long enough now. The bite and punch has been taken out of these rebel scum. Time to crush this pitiful rebellion._ He felt it. The turning moment in the battle was upon him. His blood ran hot as he watched the rebels driven back by his Caroleans. This was it. The sounds of battle, the clash of sword against sword, mace against armor, arrow against shield, this was his music. This was the opera of war, and he was both its composer and conductor.

"Caroleans, advance in wedge formation!" Charles' command boomed over the sounds of war to his officers, who then instructed the troops to do so. The Caroleans compressed their line and reformed their formation into inverted triangles, catching the rebels in the corners of the formation. More than just people arranged in a triangle, these were soldiers sown together to create a giant metal weapon, bristling with swords that peaked out from in-between the gaps of the shield wall that formed around the wedges. One by one, the rebels disband or die where they stand. Breaking their lines, thousands of soldiers run for their lives, legends arise.

"Caroleans, onwards!" Over the sounds of war, Charles encouraged his troops. "Throw their souls screaming into the great beyond!"

The bugle sounded and the charge began. The Caroleans marched down the battlefield, pushing the rebels back over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Motivated by fear of punishment their Commander would inflect on them if they did not move, by hatred for their enemies, and by the feeling of their own invincibility, the Caroleans marched on, and their enemies retreated to the sound. Only death or glory awaits those men who charge an army five times their size on the bloodied fields of the Free Marches. On that battlefield, it would seem that true beyond any doubt that the Carolean battle cry held true; God was with them.

Maire's warriors began to flee to the rear, but they were trapped. Behind these fleeing warriors, there stood a wagon train. This train carried their food, water, and all the other supplies a mobile army would need, but it also held something much more important to the rebels than food or water: their families. They had come with them to witness the foreign Ostwick invaders defeated by the heroic people's army, but it was obvious at this point that what had happened was anything but that. Thousands and thousands of warriors and civilians had been forced into the confined space between the wagons by the Carolean force commanded by Charles, who watched over the slaughter with indifference from atop of Bucephalus. He knew that this needed to be done, he knew that this would be what the world would remember as the reason not to try and stand against Carolus Rex.

On that day, from a once green field of battle now stained red, a new great power was born from blood and iron.

Legends then taught that, baptized in blood, two beasts met in battle. Eagle against lion, teeth against claws, set the world around them on fire. As the world did burn, the rebellious lion eventually tired and was thrown roaring into the deepest depths of the fire by the Ostwick eagle as it flew through narrow cliffs towards eternal sublimity.

* * *

That is how it went down, but that is definitely not what Charles told them. By leaving out the parts about the civilian massacre, Maire's speech, and sprinkling a bit more emphasis on the 'barbarity' of his enemies, Charles painted the perfect propagandic picture of bloodthirsty barbarians fighting against an orderly army who fought in pure self-defense.

Maybe it was wrong of him to lie to those who considered themselves his friends, but Charles had learned long ago that the victor will never be asked if he told the truth.

"Wow." Sera was the first one to speak up after Charles finished his story. "The numbers... I mean, fifteen to one... is that really what it was?"

"Really really." Charles smiled at the skeptic elf. That seemed to be enough to quell her questions, for now at least.

"I guess it's just kinda sad, you know? All those people, all those lives, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, gone forever." Sera reflected on the tale of the battle.

"People love to say that." Charles' smile disappeared. "They love to act as if they are against war, as if it is something that should be destroyed, as if it is something that _can_ be destroyed, but what they don't understand, what they don't _want_ to understand, is that war has always been the one and only constant in all of history, and always will be. There is a reason why we fix our swords instead of pens, blood instead of ink, action instead of lax, sacrifice instead of cowardice. We do this not because we are naturally warlike and primitively violent beings, nor because there is some big bad bogeyman behind the curtains that pulls the strings of world conflict for his own profit, but because man has come to the logical conclusion that if he does not, his neighbors will, and then he shall be kicked to the dirt and left there to rot until the end of time. He who will take up arms and fight shall do just that: fight, and survive. But those who sit back and watch, or worse, stand against the very idea of war, will not be able to find a way to survive in this world of never-ending conflict, nor do they deserve to."

"... You're a pretty weird guy, Prince." Sera said after a moment of silence.

"Hey, for the record, I didn't even want to do this-"

"And," Sera interrupted him, "for the record, I never said being weird was a bad thing. I mean - look at me! Who I am to judge?"

There it was again. Cassandra hated it, the way the two of them sat together and seemed to forget that there was anything else but each other. The frown from before returned to her face once more. She didn't want to be left out, she needed to say _something_.

"So... how about that ocean?" She asked with an awkward smile.

"It's wet." Charles said plainly without turning his head from Sera to look at her.

"Ah... yes. It is quite wet, indeed." Cassandra laughed awkwardly, trying to think of some way to continue their conversation, to not be left out again.

"It's deep too!" Merrill piped in.

"That is true as well." Charles chuckled at her comment, which only made Cassandra angrier.

 _Why didn't he laugh at my obvious observation!?_ Cassandra knew it was a petty thing to be upset over, but she couldn't help it. There was a piercing anger in the back of her head as she watched Charles stand up and walk over to a window in their cabin that she couldn't ignore. She knew that it wasn't healthy to feel this way about him, but for some reason, some bizarre reason, she couldn't stop feeling this warm feeling in her stomach at the very thought of him, and couldn't stop a dark, hate-filled feeling from blackening her mind when anyone else got near him.

"Both of you are correct, the ocean is very wet and very deep." Charles said as he looked through the window at the waves below. "The ocean is also vast and mysterious, it's depths and deepest crevices may never be fully explored. This makes it a very scary place to some, but infinitely more beautiful to others. Much like our lives."

"How so?" Solas asked, breaking his streak of silence.

"You see, we are simply ships. Many of us never actually leave the harbor, staying anchored because we are afraid of what the vast unknown may hold. Some are detached from the docks, but only explore for a short period of time, quickly returning to safety at the first sign of danger. Others are able to leave their chains behind and find new, undiscovered places and wonders, but then there are also those who fall victim to the storms and creatures of the sea, sinking into the depths of blue, never to be seen again."

Sera slid over to where Isabela and Merrill sat. "This is the part where he gets all philosophical and stuff." She whispered to the duo.

"Just as life can seem as a mystery to us at times, so can the ocean. As the questions of life do, the oceans hidden treasures and secrets seem to call out to us. While some who delve deep into the depths may return empty-handed, or delve too deep and lose themselves in the darkness, there are also those who will return to the surface with more riches than any normal man could comprehend. We can either take the risk and dive head first into the abyss to see if those stories of wonders and treasures are true, or stay safely on its edges. The choice is entirely in our hands to make." Charles turned around from the window. "But I'm sure you all stopped paying attention to me about halfway through my lecture anyways."

"I was paying attention!" He was surprised to see Merrill was the first to protest his assumption. "I like the ocean too!"

"Thanks, Merrill." Charles sighed. "I'm glad at least you're here to listen to my ramblings."

* * *

So in summery of this chapter: Dragon Age's own Napoleon/Caesar steals some important stuff, says some diabolical soliloquy, tells a story about some backstory stuff, and then says some deep, meaningful stuff about the ocean, rebel scum get blown the fuck out, Cassandra feels some strange stuff, Sera gets her self-identity laughed at, Varric reveals he is not the Herald of Andraste's biggest fan, Isabela got the gang a ship, Solas actually had some dialogue, Merrill got Charles to like her, and Fenris just brooded silently.

(1) After I finished writing this part, it really reminded me of those old disney movies where the arrogant villain had a song to outline their evil plan.

(2) The nickname is a reference to Machiavelli's 'The Prince', and to Charles' machiavellian personality.

(3) This song comes from the welsh military march 'Men of Harlech'. I watched Zulu for like the fifteenth time the day before I wrote this section and it made me want to include this beautiful piece. So, for the record, I take no credit for this.


	9. Arrival

It was still morning when they arrived at Ostwick's main harbor. While Charles didn't receive the grand welcome he would have preferred, the trip from the docks to the gates was still one without any troubles. That is, until they reached the gates themselves. He had always taken his brother for a daft one, too easily manipulated by the Senate and their honeyed words, but he had to admit that sending a party of soldiers loyal to him and not to Charles to escort him to the family castle, without any of his companions being allowed to enter the gates was rather clever. While Sera was disappointed that she would not be taken on her grand tour of the city just yet, the rest of his party seemed to be fine with waiting outside the walls for a bit, even Merrill, Isabela, and Fenris, who for some reason stayed after they landed at Ostwick. So everyone was happy, or at least docile. That is, if 'everyone' did not include a certain Seeker.

"No! Absolutely not!" Cassandra both literally and figuratively stood in the way between him and his home. "It is my duty to guard you, to keep you safe. I cannot do that when we are separated by not one, but two walls!"

"Don't worry, Cassandra." He gave her what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. "I'll keep my special hand safe."

Apparently he had said something wrong, because the furious glare he received from the Seeker told him that she was anything but reassured. "You think that's what this is about!?"

"Uh... pretty much. That's why you are guarding me. Glowly handy equals closey rifty. It's not that complicated." He argued, weakly shrugging his shoulders.

That only seemed to make her angrier, but before she blew any more fumes at him, Cassandra turned around for a moment and mumbled something that did not reach his ears before sighing and turning back around to face him. "I am sorry, Charles, but it is too risky. I can't let you go." He raised a single eyebrow at her choice of words. "Go into the city I mean!" She corrected herself frantically.

Charles turned his head to face his escorts. "Excuse us for a moment." His voice gave a facade of warmth and calmness as he placed his hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "We need to talk." He said, walking with her down the docks which they had arrived on only hours ago. It was just the two of them on these docks, the rest of their group had left to find a place to stay while Marcus kept them out of Ostwick, but Cassandra had instead not left his side since they had arrived.

"Tell me, Cassandra, do you know why I brought us, brought you, to Ostwick?" He asked, his hand leaving her shoulder to meet with his other behind his back as they walked on the dock side by side.

"You said it was a matter personal to you." She answered.

"That is true, but there are other reasons as well. More... political reasons." He informed her in a tone as smooth as silk as they reached the end of the dock. "You see, our little Inquisition has a long way to go before it can stop any breach or find the murderer of Most Holy. To even be taken seriously by the monarchs of Thedas, we need to first have our legitimacy as a religious-military organization recognized by the Chantry. How do you suppose we go about doing that?"

"I... I suppose I really did not think about that part too much." Cassandra mused as she cast her gaze unto the water in front of her. The water, unlike almost all ports she had been to beforehand, was not at all turbid. Instead, it was a clear, bright blue that allowed for her to see under the surface at the ocean life below. "I thought that we might go around places like the Hinterlands and try to help the people there, and once stories of our good deeds spread, the Chantry would change their minds about us."

"A noble ideal, but misguided none the less." Charles said as his eyes, unlike hers, stared not down below into the water, but instead at the currently cloudless blue skies above him. He also watched the grey clouds that had formed far away from the shore, those clouds that very slowly and surely were making their way towards Ostwick.(1) "An organization like ours will benefit much more from the support of nations rather than people, and that is exactly what I can get from Ostwick."

"Ostwick is just one city, Charles." Her response ignited a white hot fury in him internally, but only a slight twitch of the eye externally.

 _Only one city._ He repeated inwardly. **_Only. One. City._**

"While that is an astute observation, Ostwick is one of the most powerful cities in the Free Marcher Confederation, and would make a fine capital for the Inquisition." Charles argued over the sound of small waves rushing ashore behind them.

"I see your point, but I don't think we need a capital. The Inquisition isn't really a 'grand empire' or not yet at least!" She laughed at her own sarcasm. More than any thing, Charles was surprised that she actually knew what sarcasm was. Although he supposed that she had spent a fair time around Varric, maybe the dwarf had rubbed off on her without her even knowing.

 _Not like that._ His stomach twisted in disgust at the thought of the dwarf and the Seeker together.

"Of course not." He smiled, but less at her joke and more at the irony of it.

Cassandra's laughter calmed and the worried look from before returned to her face. "It's just that... that..."

Charles had to hide a cheeky smile at her inability to formulate her sentence. It had always been something that amused him that the stronger the walls on the outside of fortresses were, the weaker their inner defenses. One simply needed to know the right niche to climb or the correct hidden path to walk, and their entire defense would become futile, no matter how strong they presented themselves on the outside.

"...I just am worried that if you go in that city, you won't come back out alive." She finally spoke her troubles, or at least one of them.

"Now why would you think that?" He chuckled softly. "It's not like the Senate and the general political and economic elite of Ostwick want my head on a silver platter."

"Wait," Cassandra's head shot up from looking at the water below them and turned to face him with a confused look, "there is a Senate? Is Ostwick not ruled by a single Teyrn?"

Charles mirrored her movements, looking down from the sky and then at her, face to face. "It was, until the previous Teyrn, my father, passed away. There was a power vacuum after that. He had an heir, but he was deemed too young to rule."

"Shouldn't your uncle have be regent then?" Cassandra asked, interrupting him.

"Maybe, but the old man declined, he was busy with other prodigies than Marcus. So the Senate was formed temporarily by influential nobles and merchants to rule until my brother, the eldest and heir, was ready to take his father's place as Teyrn. However, by the time of his coordination, the Senate had gained support as a 'symbol of democracy in a sea of despots', and continued to exist passing and overseeing certain laws and reforms proposed by the new Teyrn. This made them powerful, too powerful for my brother to face alone. So I, my brother and my sister, formed the Triumvirate. A coalition that would divide power by giving control of the military, a new standing army that was established by my uncle and the city guard, to me; putting my sister in charge of trade, industry, and infrastructure; and my brother, now Teyrn, would handle the relations with other cities; but much of our responsibilities were overseen by our uncle, Cato. He was the... de facto leader of the triumvirate."

"A system of checks and balances, a separation of powers." Cassandra spoke, "That sounds like something that would work."

Charles shot her a distasteful glance. "In theory, maybe. But the nature of man has a tendency to tear away theoretical idealisms. As time went on, the Senate began to lose the support of the public for their incompetence in passing laws and failure to keep food supplies high and water systems clean, and the Triumvirate gained popularity as we had established Ostwick as a major power in the Free Marches after the War of Five. However, in all actuality, it was I alone who had gained fame as it was I alone who led the troops north across the Virrmarks and curb stomped those northern barbarians. With this new popularity, I began to... interfere in my siblings responsibilities, and started to centralize power to myself." Charles looked up into the sky again and sighed for a moment before he looked back down at the woman in black leather before him. "That is what the situation was before I left. Now, with what has happened to me, to Cato... I don't know."

"Then don't go!" Cassandra pled, the stoicism in her voice which she had held on to for most of her life suddenly disappearing. "We can go back to Ferelden and get help there. If you want the support of monarches, Leliana is friends with the king there... I'm sure he could help us. You don't need to risk yourself like this!" The once strong and fearless Pentagast had been turned into puddy in Charles' hands.

"Now now, Cassandra, like I said: there's no need to be worried." He held up the hand where the breach had scarred him. "I'll keep the mark safe. And once I rap up my business here, we can go back to Ferelden and do all those things you said you wanted to do before. Like helping babies, or whatever."

"Sir!"

From behind them the guards from earlier called to them. They both turned their heads back to the harbor.

"It has been more than a moment." Their leader stated. "You will need to come now."

Cassandra was the first one to look back at Charles, who then followed suit at her. There was a moment there, on that wet, wooden dock, where all time seemed to stop. She looked at him, and he was looking back. He would be gone after this, for how long she knew not. If she was going to say something, now would've been the time.

"I'll see you on the other side, Cassandra." Charles bowed his head to her before placing his hand on her shoulder. "Stay safe." Then, he turned once more before he began to walk away, and time began to return.

 _Say something!_

She should have.

 _Say that he means more to you than that damn mark!_

But fear overshadowed love.

 _Say anything!_

And Cassandra was left alone on the docks. The storm that seemed so far away had now closed in, and rain ran down her cheeks.

 _Maker..._ She turned away from the view of Ostwick's entrance as Charles disappeared behind the walls. _I... I am a failure. My entire life I have fought and fought. Now I have been completely overcome by a single man, one that I can't even get a word out to without making myself to be a fool. It isn't supposed to be like this! I am blunt and open about what I think, not... not this... what has he done to me?_

All of the sudden, Cassandra felt something else wash over her with the cold rain.

 _Regret._

She regretted falling for him so fast.

 _You cannot be the only one._

She regretted staying silent and keeping her feelings to herself.

 _If you don't, someone else will._

But like so many painful emotions she had felt before, the Seeker hid them away, like tears in the rain.

* * *

Charles and the men guarding him took a backstreet path to the Trevelyan Castle, not wanting the masses of Ostwick to see the coming of their grand hero and disrupt his return, which was meant to be a simple funeral holding. However, Charles had other ideas in regards to what would happen upon his return to the mammoth city which he called home. His eyes looked around at those guarding him as they entered a dark, narrow alleyway.

These were not his Caroleans. His Carolean Guard wore blue and yellow, and these men had identical colors of red and white cloth over their silverite armor, along with a close helm covering their heads.(2)

 _Looks like he's forming his own guard force._ Charles thought as they emerged from the alley to the front steps of the Trevelyan Castle. The tall designs, which swept upwards with height and grandeur, held up the flying buttress and the pointed arch which stood over the doors the guards led him through. The interior was just as airy and light as he remembered as the guards led him under the vaulted ceiling towards the throne room. The grand doors that separated the waiting room from the Teyrn's throne room were extremely ornate, decorated with symbols and patterns from days of yore. Aqulias were featured flying around the four edges of the door while on the center, fasces were used as the handles for opening.

"Wait here." One of the guards ordered before he opened and walked through the doors before closing them behind him. Charles sat down on the small wood bench that stood against the right side of the room. He sat silently as the four remaining guards took their positions at each corner of the room. The quiet atmosphere of the room made for a sort of irony in his mind.

 _The calm before the storm._ He thought, chuckling to himself before taking a moment to reflect on how Ostwick became such a prosperous city.

Ostwick, over the course of the Mage Rebellion, the War of Five, and since the foundation of the Senate, had become the post populated city in the Free Marches. Wealth from war reparations and general plunder had been invested into magnificent public building projects. Although he had to work through the bureaucracy of the Senate and his own sister, Charles was the mind behind these projects.

He placed his heart and soul into these projects, not because he believed one day that he would be remembered as Ostwick's greatest engineer, although he wouldn't mind being granted such an honor, but because each blue print held a pragmatic purpose for the city.

The Colosseum that attracted thousands upon thousands of people even from beyond Ostwick's walls, severed both to entertain and pacify the public, and to gather revenue from the mass tourism it attracted. The triumphal arches he constructed were made not only to celebrate military victories over Ostwick's enemies, but to remind the native population, along with any who stepped through the gates, just how powerful the Army, his Caroleans, were in case there were any thoughts of revolting among the people.

A new material he had discovered, or better said found and copied from a trip to Tevinter which his uncle took him to where he studied The Hundred Pillars to recreate the hard dust which those massive pillars were crafted from, served not only to give proof to his skill to innovate, but also made Ostwick architecture the strongest and most sturdy in the entire Free Marches, if not all of Thedas. This rediscovered material allowed for the use of architectural forms such as the arch, vault, and dome to be built with little expense compared to the gold spent by other cities on such designs. This secret recipe for revolutionary methods of construction was kept hidden with such confidentiality that it could only be compared to the Qunari and their gunpowder.(3)

As with any city, Ostwick had its wealthy areas and impoverished areas, these two sections of the city were traditionally separated by the river Tiberius, which cut down the middle of Ostwick all the way to the Waking Sea. Before, the poorer person could have only afforded to live in a wooden home, and these houses would be very vulnerable to catch fire, however, these fires happened less and less as Charles began to undertake his most ambitious project yet: waterways.

No longer would his city be forced to rely on local sources of water such as springs and streams or wells and rainwater, all of which suffered incredible contamination. But before he could even dream of using the water to quell the fires that would devastate the lowtowns, Charles needed a way to transport the water from the fresh water springs of the Vimmarks to Ostwick. For this, he looked to the ways of yore. The Tevinter aqueducts, made from the same hard dust that he would use to build his own aqueducts, severed as the perfect blueprint for building new ones, ones that would serve not the Imperium, but Ostwick.

With this new abundance of water, the fires that plagued his city became mere flies, swatted down with ease. This was not all the water offered. Since the springs which they was drawn from were fresh water, they could be used for so much more. The cisterns of Ostwick were filled to such an extent that the fresh water almost caused flooding on several occasions. Charles used this brimming amount of clean water to supply newly built public baths, latrines, and fountains, as well as providing water for mining operations, milling, farms and gardens.

Any waste was removed by a complex system of underground sewage tunnels and released into the Waking Sea, although he kept the place where this waste was released away from Ostwick's shores and farther east away from her main harbors. This process of waste removal kept the city clean and almost completely free from water-transmitted diseases.(4)

With these major metropolitan advancements, along with successful military campaigns launched in the north, from which the wealth that he plundered he had built the former, both taken into account, it was no wonder why the people of Ostwick now treated him with such love and admiration that it could only be compared to the Chantry and the Maker, the latter of which he had even began to replace in some of the minds of the citizens of the city which now enjoyed the highest standard of living in all of the Free Marches.

Charles had been born into a city of brick and crafted it anew into a city of marble

Interrupting his reflections, the door slammed open, and out from the ornate doors came the Teyrn of Ostwick. His outfit was characterized by the rose red slashed doublet with paned sleeves, bright white breeches, and tall, narrow, dark brown boots with turned-over tops. His brown hair, a shade darker than Charles' own, fell in loose curls down to the wired collar lace trim that he wore on his neck.

"Hello, Brother." Charles stood up, the plain armor he wore, the steel gorget around his throat and upper chest, the silver plackart that he wore of over his lower torso, the azure undershirt that was worn below that, and the metal faulds and brown breeches, looked so contrasting to the social-status showing clothes that Marcus wore. "And hello to you too, Sister." He also greeted his sister, the Teyrn's closest advisor, who stood next to his brother. Helen wore a closed satin, green, high-waisted bodice with tabbed skirts and black, open, three-quarter sleeves over full chemise sleeves.

"General." His brother addressed him formally with a salute. Marcus' hand raised to the side of his head, the tips of his fingers touched his head less than an inch away from his navy blue eyes, which stared coldly into his own light blue eyes.

 _So that's how it's going to be._ Charles thought as Helen gave him the same martial gesture. _After almost dying more than once, having a new destiny forced upon me, having to deal with my mentor and uncle's death, and almost being barred from my home by my family, this is what I get?_

 ** _No, this is what you deserve_.** A small voice whispered to him in his mind.

"The funeral will take place today." Marcus said before Charles could respond to the voice. His words were spoken simply and plainly. No emotion, only stoically-said facts. "Captain Joachim," Marcus turned to one of the four guards in the room with him, "relieve the General of his weapons and take him to the armory."

 _What else should I have expected?_ Charles thought as the guard known as "Joachim" disarmed him of his sword, not noticing that it was in fact not his own sword, before leading him past the door, past his brother, past his sister, past the last shard of love between them.

The bonds of family love were easily undone by hands greased with greed for power. Charles knew that better than anyone. Yet as Joachim led him through the stone walls of the castle, passing by the paintings of his family, he couldn't help but feel it wrong that his family treated him as a General instead of their brother.

To distract himself from the force that pulled on the strings of his heart, Charles looked at the portraits that hung against the walls he walked by. He noticed that there was a pattern to these portraits. As he walked down the hallways towards his room, the outfits that the men and women in the paintings became more and more modern. This was no random compilation of paintings selected merely for their aesthetics, they were a family time-line. It was no sooner than when he realized this that he recognized his grandfather on the wall. A sudden feeling of eagerness arose in him as he drew closer to where deductive reasoning told him his own portrait should be. However, his heart dropped as he came to a stop before the final generation of Trevelyans.

"He put up every one but yours." Joachim spoke, stopping with him to look at the empty frame. Charles could feel the sympathy attempting to be communicated through the guard's words, but it did not help.

"Such is politics." Charles huffed before turning to continue towards the armory, only to realize that the door was right in front of him and that he had no more distance to walk.

"I will leave you to get dressed, Sir." Joachim said as Charles walked into the armory, but not before giving a nod of respect to the General, who then in turn silently nodded back.

* * *

"Do you really think that was right?"

"No." Marcus replied to his sister as they awaited their brother to come out dressed properly. "People like us weren't made for rights and wrongs. It was necessary, not only for Ostwick, but for us. We must show him that he is _not_ welcome, to ensure he stays gone next time he leaves." He turned his harsh gaze from the decorated door to look directly into Helen's blue eyes. "You should know how to put your own interests and safety above others' better than anyone, Sister."

That shut her up.

Suddenly the door opened, and out emerged Charles, dressed in his by now iconic clothes after his victory over the northern cities. An greatcoat of pure blue coloring that still left his front exposed. On said front was a rather plain blue justacorps that matched with his flowing overcoat, and had golden buttons that led to his waist before being opened up to reveal a light yellow underskirt that matched with the belt around his waist. Lastly he wore obsidian black boots along with a similarly black tricorne upon his head, although his hair still was slightly exposed to the world. Not that that was a negative, most of the people of Ostwick believed it was a rather humanizing aspect of him, as well as making him nicer to look at.(5)

"You are ready." Marcus stood up as Joachim entered behind Charles. They then took a back route outside of the castle before arriving at a small garden in the castle courtyard. Surrounded by red roses and lush green grass, an empty casket sat in the middle of the garden.

As he looked around and saw that they were the only attendees, Charles could not say with honesty that he was surprised.

 _Cato was never good at making friends._ He thought as two blonde women dressed in flowing white dresses emerged from doors on opposite ends of the garden with blue-flamed torches in their hands. As the last Trevelyans stood with their heads dipped, those two ash blonde woman threw their torches unto the wood of Cato's casket, igniting it in electric blue flames that seemed to dance a top the brown casket before consuming the roses that laid upon it while leaving the casket itself untouched.

 _Probably some crappy metaphor for the "passing of the rose of life" or something else dumb._ Charles never understood the importance of these funeral rituals, but this one in particular would allow him back into Ostwick, and therefore it was useful to him.

 _Still boring though. I'd prefer if we made his dead body do a back flip. Although that would be kinda hard to do since Cato's body was literally disintegrated in the explosion at the Conclave. Hmm... guess we'd have to settle for a front flip then. I should get a pan._

"It's done."

His thoughts were stopped short by Marcus. Charles undipped his head and turned to his right to face his brother.

"The funeral is over." The brown haired brother of his continued as the two other women besides Helen left the garden through the same doors they had entered. "And now you will leave."

Charles' lips slowly curved into a smile at the Teyrn's words. "Will I?" He asked playfully, he could see Helen behind Marcus looking more uncomfortable by the second as she watched their confrontation.

"Yes!" Marcus raised his voice at the smirk on Charles' face. "There will be no coup d'état! There will be no civil war! There will be no "King Carolus"! And do you know why? Because there will be no Charles Trevelyan. Not in Ostwick!" He and Charles were now face to face, standing off as it became fully clear to everyone in the garden that those who were once brothers now stood against one another as foes.

All for a damned crown.

"Because, Charlie, now _I_ am in control!" Marcus pressed his finger against Charles' chest as the two men eyed each other with a hatred only brothers could know.

But the smile had never left Charles' face during this.

"Tell me, Brother," he brushed Marcus' finger away lightly, "do you feel in control?"

Before Marcus could reply, a loud explosion accompanied by the very ground beneath their feet being shaken for a moment caused the Teyrn to fall over. Joachim however caught him before he hit the ground and helped him back on his feet.

"And thus I have my answer." If Charles' smile grew any wider it would have split his face open.

"What in Andraste's name was that?!" Marcus exclaimed, the look on his face gone from assured and vainglorious to stunned and fearful. "What did you do?!" He asked upon seeing the smug look that sat fixed upon the Carolean Commander's face.

" _I_ have done nothing." Charles began in a lecturing tone. "Last time I checked _you_ were the one who tried to exile the only one in Ostwick who knows how to led an army."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Marcus continued to grill Charles before another blast sounded through the castle walls, followed by the ground being shaken once more.

After he was sure Marcus would not lose his balance once more, Charles began to explain: "So, after Ostwick pisses off more than half of the Free Marches by depopulating their cities, destroying their armies, and placing them into economic ruin, you choose to tell the whole world that the man who won that war, the only man who could possibly defend Ostwick if said cities we sacked decided to get revenge, is no longer allowed in Ostwick accept for a short funeral that no one outside our family knows the time of. Does that really sound like a good idea?"

The cogs in Marcus' head finally began to turn as his pupils in his blue eyes began to constrict. "So... that means..."

"Yep. Ostwick has been besieged." Charles finished for him.

The guards in the room had began to whisper things to each other at this news, and Helen silently began to bite at her red-painted nails.

"But that's impossible!" Marcus shook his head furiously and clenched his fists. "I-I had stationed a thousand guards outside of the walls and on the Vimmarks! They should have warned us!"

"Well," Charles began to tighten his gloves around his forearm, "you're not their Carolus, are you?" He chuckled. Before Marcus could ask what he meant, Charles continued. "Now if you'd excuse me, I have an invasion to repulse."

"We are going with you!" To the surprise of everyone in that room, Helen was the one who spoke up.

After a moment of silence, Charles simply shrugged his shoulders at this. "If you wish," he turned and began to walk towards the same door they used to enter the garden, "just don't get in my way."

 _The storm has finally arrived._ He mused as he left the funereally garden, his brother and sister along with their guards following closely behind him.

* * *

1\. Foreshadowing(cue dun dun DUN sound effect)!

2\. These two sets of colors, blue and yellow against red and white, is meant to symbolize the old dano-swedish rivalry that plagued Scandinavia for centuries.

3\. Basically roman concrete, at least in historical context.

4\. Another roman(tevinter) thing, this time more wet than the last.

5\. A basic description of the uniform of Charles XII. (The Swedish king who Charles is named after and who's life is based off of in some aspects, but admittedly not in the premature blading that Charles XII had) I also put a portrait of him in the cover for this story, although that one lacks the greatcoat.


	10. Killing Ground

So, just to say it before hand, I am going to be trying something new in this chapter: Music. Basically how it works is that there will be a note in bold parenthesis that signifies when to begin playing the song, which will also be included in the parentheses, and another bold parentheses to signal when to stop playing it. However, sometimes the latter of the two won't be included due to the song going all the way to the end of the chapter. I've seen this done many times in other fics, so I'm going to TRY and make it work for mine. And no, I am not being paid by the artists to promote there music and I did not sell my soul to the music industry... at least not yet.

* * *

"So you knew about this!" Marcus accused Charles as they walked the hallways of the Trevelyan castle with the former's guards and Helen close behind them.

"The siege?" Charles asked rhetorically before answering him. "It was more of an educated guess, and it's less that I wanted for my city to be besieged and more that I knew you wouldn't believe me if I said anything."

 _And that this is the perfect opportunity for me to regain a foothold in Ostwick._ He added to himself. In his pragmatic mind, opportunity was opportunity, even if it involved the death of his own people.

" _Your_ city?!" Marcus blustered at his brother's use of the word, ignoring the other part of his statement. For both he and Charles both knew that neither of the two trusted each other in any manner or use of the word. Charles merely smiled slyly at the distraught, yet infuriated look on Marcus' face as another quake shook the castle.

"Your Lordship!" A screech echoed the halls as a servant, the source of said screech, rounded the corner ahead of them.

"Ella?" Marcus gasped as the servant woman ran quite literally into his arms. Her black and white dress was padded down by the sweat on her body, telling them that she must have ran quite a distance to reach them.

"My Lord!" Ella began frantically as she looked at Marcus, who was much greater than her in height. "You need to leave right now!"

"Ella, calm down." Marcus grasped her small hands against his chest, causing Charles to roll his eyes.

 _Bleh. Feelings._

"What is going on?" Marcus asked her, the softness in his voice meant to calm the heavily breathing woman. "Why do we need to leave?"

Ella took a moment of breath before she continued. "T-They've reached the river, m-my Lord..."

"WHAT?!" This time it was Charles who spoke up in anger, breaking his usually cold and calm persona. The only way Ostwick could have been besieged by land was from the north, and since the river Tiberius cut from north-west to the south-eastern harbor, that could only mean that they had broke through the twin city walls and had taken numerous city districts. "HOW?!" He shouted at the servant, who then clung closer to Marcus at his fury.

"They had c-cannons." Ella shuttered in her explanation. "Big, loud cannons..."

"Cannons? That could only mean that they..." Charles sighed, not finishing his sentence. "Great, now the Qunari want my head too for some random reason! I've only raided their settlements in Antiva and Riviani like... six times, and only permanently expelled the entire Qunari population from Ostwick one time! RUDE! But those cannons still don't account for how they overcame our forces and made it inside the city so quickly!"

"The pack is nothing without their alpha..." Helen mumbled behind them.

"Enough!" Marcus raised his voice at them before lowering it and releasing Ella's hands. "It doesn't matter how they got in, what matters now is that we stop them." He turned to Charles. "We need to get to the armory."

* * *

The siege was sudden, one second the walls of Ostwick stood tall and strong, and the next their cannons had crushed them and shook the city to its very foundation. Capturing the ramparts was a slaughter without grief, and left a whole in the walls for an endless grey of soldiers from Markham, Hercinia, Ansburg, and Wycome to pour through and begin the plunder. Through storm they went forth to the towns, killing and burning all that stood in their path as water fell from the sky. The city was besieged, all hell on Ostwick unleashed as the cannons cross the walls the city shakes.

Fear is spreading, and the wings of the eagle have been broken

"Ostwick must fall!" Over the flames, death and rain, one commander from the north, one who had seen war before, John Casimir his name, called out to the men who fought for the coalition against Ostwick. "Disregard the losses, the city's ours to take!" His interest in the fight against the city was both personal and professional.

Hate is increasing, and the beak of the eagle has been broken.

 _Only half the city remains now. When we reach the richer parts, I'll make sure every piece of jewelry, every coin of gold, and every work of art that **he**_ _stole gets returned to their rightful owners._ Casimir thought as the brown manned horse he rode upon reached the head of his forces, which had for some reason halted completely in front of the bridge that crossed over the Tiberius.

Death and pain - it is all that they had brought as the eagle's land was theirs to take.

Only the sound of fire crackling behind them, river flowing beneath them and rain pouring and pattering against the ground could be heard because, suddenly, in the midist of the siege the violence had ceased, but the tension was still fresh in the air. Casimir's brown eyes cast their solemn gaze upon the marble white bridge which crossed over to what remained of Ostwick, and on the other side he saw what caused his own soldiers to stop.

Across the bridge, and on the other shore stood the same heavily armoured legions that he had faced so long ago on that long-stretching field which turned red with the blood of soldier and civilian. Casimir looked back and forth from his own troops to the men on the other side, both stood with banners held high and hearts ready to die. While his own greatly outnumbered the remaining Caroleans, he remembered how greatly the numbers had been against them before, and how the Caroleans had still come out on top against the odds.

 _It will be different_ _now._ He thought as the standoff between the two armies continued. _We have the advantage not only in numbers, but now **he's** not here._

But as soon that thought crossed his mind, a crack in the wall of Caroleans opened up, and out from the blue and yellow emerged the demon who had haunted Casimir's dreams ever since the climatic battle of Rose's Rebellion on that bloody plain so long ago. Carolus' eyes seemed to pierced across the bridge into Casimir's own, and at that moment the two knew what needed to be done. From the opposite ends of Tiberius' bridge, the two generals dismounted their horses, and walked slowly towards one another and left their forces behind them. As the devilishly handsome face of Ostwick's tycoon came into clear sight, Casimir remembered how all of this could have been avoided, or at least he thought it could've, so long ago.

* * *

 _ **Three years before the explosion at the Conclave, in the chaotic fear-stricken city of Wycome...**_

"We shall consume Ostwick in flames!" A noble proclaimed.

"Every man, woman, and child shall burn!" Another shouted.

"Salt the scorched earth when we are finished!" A third proposed.

The Wycome city-council chamber was filled with shouts of agreement, laughter, and other suggestions by various nobles from Hercinia, Markham, Ansburg, and of course Wycome itself. However, not a single man protested the notion posed to burn Ostwick to the ground as they stood from their seats in an uproarious discussion.

"Enough!" One nobleman raised his voice high enough to peak over the chaos of noises and words already filling the room. "Hercinia has fallen and our western suppliers have failed us. All lands south of the Vimmarks are lost. Where was the last report of his whereabouts?"

"My spies in the south have informed me his fleet has set sail! We must expect an amphibious invasion at the mouth of the Minanter!"(1)

"This is nonsense! No fleet has sailed, Wycome is the sole master of the eastern coastline of the Free Marches! He's not attacking, he's making allies! At this very moment he courts the city of Bastion. The Antivans! Their armies will invade from the Weyrs and the north will be lost!"

"Ridiculous! Those bloody Antivans wouldn't dare turn against the second-biggest importer of their damn wine! Our alliance with them is absolute no matter how honeyed his words may be. I believe the attack will come from the west! He intends to march his forces through a secret passage way through the southern mountains that will led him to Starkhaven, he then will sweep around and take the forces around Ansburg by complete surprise!"

"No, no, no, you all have it wrong! He will come not from the north, or the east or the west... my informants in the south tell me that he is massing his Caroleans in the Horn Valley. He intends to circumnavigate our fortifications at the Simmering Pass and led his forces-"

"Over the Vimmarks?!" A different nobleman interrupted. The entire chamber became filled with laughs and insults at the nobleman named John Casimir, he who tried to warm them.

"In the middle of winter!"

"He would lose half of his army to the cold alone!"

"The other half would desert!"

"Do you expect the wolves and bears to welcome him when he arrives?!"

"I suppose he will bring with him an army of Griffons!"

The laughter in the room echoed even louder than before.

"My fellow Free Marchers, I dare say that would be quite the feat, even for the great Carolus Rex."

Years later, as the city of Wycome suffered from the economic depression caused by war reparations and a ravished country-side, Casimir always looked back at that moment whenever he needed something to make him feel better about the state of his city, and about himself. It could have been saved if they had only listened to him, but now he would avenge the many lost because of the ignorance of a few.

* * *

"BESIEGED?!" Cassandra flopped back against the couch behind her before hiding her face in her hands and groaning. "I let him out of my sight for one second and he's already fighting another war!" She exclaimed in frustration, dropping her arms to her sides.

"Isn't he a General or something?" Isabela asked as she placed a rum-filled mug on the wooden round table she sat at. "It's his job to fight big battles or whatever. You shouldn't worry yourself with him, it's not like he's a newbie at these kind of things."

"She's right, Cassandra." Varric agreed as he folded a deck of cards. He and Isabela sat at the same table along with Merrill, Fenris, and Sera. Solas had excused himself to attend to a matter of which he refused to speak of. "You shouldn't be tearing yourself up over this. It's not healthy." He said with concern before dealing an extra sixth deck for her. "Come on Seeker, I'm sure a game of wicked grace will wash away your worries."

Cassandra sighed before standing up from the disheveled couch. "I thank you for your concern, Varric, " a smile appeared across the dwarf's face, "but I have to decline your offer."

The smile had disappeared off of Varric's face now as Cassandra turned to leave the room they had rented to say in. "Why?" The kind, caring tone which he carried hitherto was gone as well. "Are you so obsessed with the Herald that you can't even focus enough to sit down with your friends and play a simple game to pass the time?"

"Oh dear..." Merrill slowly slouched in her chair as she felt the air of the room turned thick and uncomfortably tense. She had only felt like this before whenever Fenris and Hawke would argue about magic, and those were anything but respectful and polite debates.

"Fenris," Isabela whispered and poked the elf who sat next to her in the arm, "get the popcorn."

"For the last time... I do not have 'popcorn'. I do not even know what this 'popcorn' you speak to me of every time something dramatic happens is!"

Cassandra's head snapped back at Varric and the rest of her body soon followed. "Obsessed?!" She said angrily, walking back towards the round table and looked down at the sitting dwarf.

"Yes! Obsessed!" Varric reiterated as he stood from his chair.

"Just like you are obsessed with that crossbow?" Cassandra harshly stated, pointing to said crossbow which rested on a shelf to her left. "An inanimate object?"

"At least the _person_ who I named the crossbow after actually shares my feelings!" Varric shot back. She recoiled at his words, and Varric could tell he had struck a weak spot in the Seeker's armor. Cassandra glared at him, brow narrowed. But Varric was a people-person and could see as clear as day that she was hurt dearly by his words.

"I... I don't need this." Cassandra held back her feelings before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her. She turned down the hallway that led to the stairway down to the lobby, ignoring Varric calling for her to apologize.

 _I don't need any of this..._ She thought as she made her way out of the tavern. In her immediate view across the rain was the gate from before which Charles had gone through. Her eyes widened when she realized that the guards from before were missing. Cassandra rushed over to the metal-bar gate before she saw that it was locked. But what she also noticed was that the doors to the battlements were not barred closed, but only locked.

"I can get that."

Cassandra swiftly drew her sword and turned to the unexpected voice that spoke up from behind her.

"Aye!" Sera slapped the sword away from where it pointed at her neck. "Chill out, Cassandra! I was offering to help!" But the Seeker still kept her blade pointed at the elf.

"What are you doing here?" Cassandra glowered suspiciously at her. "Why are you following me?"

Sera met her scowl with one of her own. "I'm here for Charles, not you."

That only made Cassandra angrier. "For him?!" She asked, tightening her glare.

"Congratulations, you can hear and repeat back words for dramatic effect!" Sera said sarcastically. "Although you're still being stupid and all that for acting like you've got special rights to being worried about him."

"I never said that!" Exclaimed Cassandra.

"Sure, whatever you say." Sera relented. "Could you just move outta the way so I can get that door?"

"...Fine." Cassandra gave in, and a smile crossed the city elf's face before she turned around and called out to seemingly no one.

"It's safe now, Merrill! You can come out now!"

 _Oh you cannot be serious._ Cassandra thought as the dalish elf from earlier emerged from her hiding spot behind some crates and as Sera brushed past her to work unlocking the door.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Miss Seeker." Merrill murmured as she walked up next to Cassandra. "I just wanted to make sure that Charles doesn't get hurt because... he's, you know... important... because of the mark... and stuff."

"It's fine, Merrill." Cassandra assured her before Sera brushed past her and went to work unlocking the door. "My anger got the better of me... again." She sighed as the door's lock clicked undone. The three women then made their way through and up the stairwell which led them to emerge out unto the battlements, which were completely empty as the soldiers who were before watchmen now stood in the battle that was about to take place.

"You see that?!" Sera was the first one to catch glimpse of the two armies on either side of the river. "Is that him?" She pointed to one of the figures crossing the bridge.

"I..." Cassandra paused and squinted as she looked over the merlon of the wall they were on and saw one persons from either side of the long and wide bridge, slowing walking towards one another, "...can't tell." The two of them watched on as the two figures came closer and closer.

"Miss Seeker!" Cassandra looked to where Merrill had called to her from, the door to the tower of the wall, that door which would have led them inside the city. "The door... this one is barred." The dalish stated, and Cassandra was distraught to see that this door would not be one she could kick in as it was barred with several steel bars that were visible on either side of the doorway.

"Damn it!" Cassandra let loose a burst of anger and slammed her fist into the stone battlements, chipping off bits of rock and dust with the force of her strike.

 _Why?!_ She looked up at the raining clouds and asked to God.

 _Why give me the way of sword if I am to but sit and observe?_ She watched as Sera and Merrill did just that, walked over to the edge of the battlements and observed the coming battle.

 _What good am I if not fighting? To not be a warrior? That is who I am!_ She remembered her old life, the one of nobility and princesses, the one she venomously rejected now. It was not with grace and tact she had chosen to carry herself, but with iron-hearted will and obdurate determination. _That_ _is all I am..._

But Cassandra begrudgingly knew in the back of her head that this odyssey would brutally disregard what she thought of herself, of her beliefs, and of everything else the world would throw at her in the coming days.

* * *

The two Generals met at the middle of the arch bridge over the Tiberius. The northern wind howled loudly in their ears as the storm clouds blackened the sky and the rain pelted the floor made from marble and hard dust as they came to face one another.

"So this is it." Spoke Casimir as the rain drizzled down his silverite, heavy Orlesion armor.

"I suppose it is." Charles shot back while the rainfall wet his black tricorne hat and blue uniform. (2)

"You don't remember me." Casimir snorted. "Do you?"

"Nope. Sorry, but nothing about you really stands out from my other enemies. Well, besides the fact that you've actually managed to reach Ostwick. But I can assure you that your time here won't be long lasting. Unless I decide to dump your body into the river."

Casimir's face scrunched in anger at the constant cocky attitude that the Terror of the Free Marches carried himself with and the fact that he seemed to be taking his invasion with a gran of salt, as if it could be swatted down with the flick of his wrist.

 _Won't be like that. We are going to beat him this time._

"Your overconfidence will be your undoing." Casimir scorned. Behind him, down on the river, his troops began rolling small galleys into the water as Charles' own did the same. The river Tiberius was about half a mile from the bank which the coalition forces stood on, loading the warships with archers, swordsmen, and others, to where the Caroleans on the other shore mirrored their movements.

"That's what they all say." Chuckled Charles as he eyed Casimir like a cat would a mouse, a predator its prey.

Casimir clenched his armored fists before pointing an accusing finger at Charles. "You are a monster! A criminal of war!"

"They also say those things too."

"A moral stain upon the bottom of Thedas' boot!"

"That..." Charles paused for a moment to think,"... is actually a new one."

"And you will be wiped away like one too! You have gathered an extraordinary amount of enemies with your greed and ambition, and one day you will pay. Today is that day." Casimir finished before withdrawing his pointing hand to his side.

Charles closed his eyes and gave a chortle at his proclamation. "My enemies may be many, but my equals stay naught." His crystal eyes opened with a newly dawned glare that pierced into Casimir's own sage colored eyes. "In the shadow of the great Vimmarks, they said Markham could never be conquered. In the thick farmlands alongside the Minanter river, they said Ansburg could never be humbled. In the land of Antivan wine and free men, they said Wycome could never be tamed. Now, they say nothing. They fear me, like a force of nature: an angel of death and a harbinger of destruction." Charles reached up to his shoulder and lifted his blue greatcoat before throwing it to the wind. "Now it is my turn to speak, and I say I am the new world order to come! I say that the Free Marches and all of Thedas will be my Imperium, and I its Imperator. So, I will give you one final chance. Kneel," Casimir beamed with fiery intensity at the man who declared himself emperor, "before I bring you to your knees."

"Never." Casimir bared his teeth and shook his head as he drew his broadsword. It gave off a shining silver light from the blade which was shrouded in fire, showing that it had a rather powerful enchantment of flame placed on it. "My men fight with the true will of the Maker on their side, unlike your phony Inquisition."

"Perhaps." Charles acknowledged as he drew the weapon from his side. This was not the sword which he had stolen from Maric's son, instead of bright golden metal this sword was a slightly curved blade colored black with a frenzy of electricity forming around the metal as Charles pulled it from its seethe. "But while you have the 'right', I have the might." He smiled as the trumpets of war sounded from either side of the bridge, calling forth both armies to charge forth and the ships on the water below to begin to sail forwards, both to engage their foe.

"Let's find out which one comes out on top, shall we?!" Carolus Rex proclaimed as flame and lighting clashed, their swords clenching against one another as the Caroleans, both on foot and horseback, broke their traditional line formation and charged forth the opposite force of knights and mercenaries, both on foot and horseback as well, who also rushed forwards with just as much valor. Both sides of warships below the bridge began to fire ballistae, arrows, and all sorts of projectiles, some even set ablaze, at the opposing fleet as well as sending ships to board the other longboats. So long as any one warrior of either of the two armies strong and vast remained, neither would past to the other side of the city. Around the warriors of land and sea, it would have seemed as if nature itself accommodated herself for the great battle.

The bridge shuddered and the river shook violently as from above the grey clouds began to shoot lightning bolts down into the battle of land and sea along with the barrage of heavy rain. Any light from the sun had vanished from the black stormy skies. The beastly winds began to howl louder and louder, causing the river to lash furiously against the arched pillars of the bridge and crash upon the Tiberian shores on either bank of the Tiberius. As the air around the fight exploded with cracks of lightning, screams of pain and fury became intertwined with the sound of steel blades clashing against armour and spears piercing flesh. The waters of the Tiberius became ruby red as blood flowed from bodies fallen from the bridge into the river below as ships were sinking, burning, shooting, or being boarded as the soldiers fought one another on the wooden decks before being thrown into the raging depths below.

As the battle of thousands surged, Marcus had long since joined the fray. His heart beat faster than it ever had before as he blocked, slashed and stabbed at anything not wearing blue and yellow or red and white. He withdrew his blade from the chest of one soldier before he turned to the next, but this one was different; this one was an elf who, using his quick hands, knocked the dragonbone sword straight out of his gauntleted hand and off the bridge. His expression under his great helm quickly turned from that of battle fury to endangered worry, but that was soon removed as a blade appeared out from the elf's chest before he fell to the ground dead, revealing Charles standing over his corpse.

"Come now, Brother." Charles smiled at him as he handed him his own shock enchanted sword to replace his lost one. "I thought you didn't like me hogging all the glory!" He laughed before picking up a Dane axe off one of the dead bodies that lay strewn across the blood spattered marble.

"You'd be correct!" Marcus said as he cut down another mercenary that was about to strike Charles from behind. The brothers fought back to back, side to side, together as the heat of battle burned and the storm raged around them.

"Too bad I'm totally beating you in kills right now!" Charles exclaimed as he swung the axe over his head with both hand to cut down two warriors with a single swipe.

"Ha! In your dreams!" Marcus laughed as he kicked a fully armoured knight off the bridge. Drenched in blood, the Caroleans battled on with righteous rage and like brothers fought and died side by side. There would be no surrender, no retreat, and no mercy shown.

"Well it doesn't count as a kill if they drown!" Charles gibed before he climbed up the bridge's tower and called out over the chaos of lighting, rain, waves, wind, and war. He blew into what looked to be a winding horn which he had kept strapped to his waist, drawing the attention of a great many warriors to himself as he did. "Hark, Caroleans! Reform on our side!"

Suddenly the fighting on the bridge began to ease momentarily as the Caroleans withdrew to their side of the bridge and began to form a wall of shields in front of the two brothers. On the other side, the soldiers from the anti-Ostwick coalition had also regrouped. Ostwick's protectors stood vastly outnumbered, almost five to one.

Still, Charles loved the odds as the warriors from Wycome, Hercinia, Ansburg, and Markham broke formation and charged the wall of shield and sword, bearing their teeth as they did. As the wise man once said, once your heart is in battle there's no turning back; and as blood starts to boil as attackers charged and the defenders banged their swords simultaneously against their shields, that statement proved ever-so true.

"Hold the line!" Charles loudly ordered as the enemy, with a cry of war echoing through their lungs, drew closer and closer. Hordes of men on foot and horse crashed against the shields like waves against cliffs. Men of war met their fate as the fire within was ignited by bloodshed, and neither side feared the grave. Hours of battle passed, the tide of warriors came again and again against the Caroleans and their shield wall and at times looked as if it would break, but from atop his black steed Charles commanded; removing certain amounts of troops from one part of the shield wall that was less pressured and to parts where the wall needed relief. Line by line, the Caroleans fought for their lives, brave men to heavens rose, and just as their foes hit the shields like waves would, they eventually were forced to brake away.

Charles glanced down at the naval war that took place on the river below. His ships had sunk or captured most of the enemy's, and now were using them to shoot arrows and ballistae at the enemies on the bridge. He felt it again, the battle turning, the storm clouds clearing, and the enemies morale bleeding. He could sense the tides of fate shifting in his favor. He chuckled at the fact that even destiny could not overthrow him, and would instead be bent by his might to his will. The one whom none could trounce would have to be destroyed by something beyond mortal hands, but even then, Charles had his doubts.

 _Though I'd have to drop the whole 'crusader' guise, it'd be interesting to see if the Maker would put a better fight than his faithful._

The giant surprise attack on a supposedly vulnerable Ostwick had turned to a throe of devastating war as many a man from Ostwick and beyond lay in the river dead. The road to the city was blocked, denied to entered the gates, through they tried; did what they could, died where they stood. The unconquered city stands strong on Tiberius' shore, protected by its people.

 _Tisk tisk, they'll never learn, will they?_ He thought with a content smile as he reached for the blowing horn again, and, as the Gjallarhorn sounded through the storm of war and of nature, the Caroleans broke the their lines and charged. A swarm of cavalry that Charles himself rode with followed the infantry; finally driving their foe off the bridge and sending them fleeing through the parts of the city which they previously sacked. On the Bridge of Tiberius they ran out of luck, those men who had fought so hard and who now fled through the alleyways and streets like livestock from hot iron. Even through they'd surrender, they would never survive as the battle of Ostwick turns, and becomes a killing ground as Carolus Rex pressed on in pursuit of glory, bathing his unconquerable zeal in gore.

The walls of the city were reclaimed on that very day, and as the storm cleared, peace in Ostwick was restored for a moment longer.

* * *

1\. This is the river in the Free Marches that runs horizontally all the way from Nevarra to Wycome, where it splits into multiple deltas, several of which are at close quarters to Wycome. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but by looking at a map of Thedas it would seem that the Minanter is also the longest river in Dragon Age. The whole flashback part makes a whole lot more sense if you were to just look at a map of Thedas for reference.

2\. This is the same uniform Charles' wore to the funeral (Charles XII's uniform). I'll probably keep this as his permeant outfit unless I think of something better or there's a overwhelmingly negative response by you guys (the readers).

One final thing, what do you guys think of the whole addition of music? Is it good? Bad?


	11. Voices Calling

The full-moon cast its silvery light down upon the city of Ostwick as trading ships left tied to the docks rocked softly against the waves of the Tiberius river. All seemed quite and well in the maritime city; its people asleep and lights dimmed, but that was not the case for one building in particular. On the highest hill of the metropolis stood a magnificent structure with a domed ceiling and ionic columns, and within that classical structure the word 'calm' had lost all its meaning. Nobles from every corner of the city shouted and demanded an explanation regarding what had happened to their Teyrn and his family from the soldiers who stood guard at the exit and blocked their way out.

"Stay in your seats!" One of the guards shouted, but the chaotic yelling still continued. He looked over the rows of the disarrayed nobility who voiced themselves angrily, thinking that there had to be at least a hundred of them gathered in the city-council chamber, the guard grew more and more flustered with their lack of respect for his orders. Before he had to take any drastic measures to quiet them, the door to the chamber opened.

The four armed guards took a knee as the man who held their loyalty entered with his lone accomplice by his side.

"My fellow patricians, I am pleased to inform you that order has been restored!" Gaius Karl Trevelyan proclaimed as he walked towards the center of the room. The nobles begrudgingly silenced their demands and took their seats, which formed an upside-down 'U' around the dais where Gaius sat in a seat of his own. The grey, dented, heavy steel armour which he wore stood as a stark contrast to the fur-trimmed doublets and other extravagant clothes which the noblemen around him wore.(1)

"The Council will hear Gaius of House Trevelyan." In the corner of the room, an older looking man with a balding, white head of hair shouted and banged a wooden staff unto the marble floor. The sound echoed through the chamber as Gaius took a deep breath before beginning what could be his greatest triumpth or a final, fatal mistake.

"Many of you here, on this eventful night, sit confused and dazed as to what has happened to our great city." He began solemnly. "Many of you have also heard rumors that the Teyrn is dead, and some of these whispers have even said that I myself have disposed of him and his kin. All of this... is true." The chamber then exploded in uproar at his words for a moment, but were quickly silenced as the guards simultaneously pulled their swords halfway out of their scabbards, causing the riled nobles to sit quietly back down.

"And now, I will enlighten you all to as why I have done so." Gaius continued, standing up from his chair and walking back and forth across the slightly raised platform he stood on while he made his speech. "As you all know, the blight has ravaged Ferelden with great furor for a many months and has shown no sign of being halted anytime soon."

"Who in God's name cares about what happens to those filthy southerners?!" One noble shouted, causing another clatter of yelling to sprout from the seed of aristocratic mob.

"QUEIT!" Gaius' demand boomed over theirs, and the nobles again lowered their voices and sat, but murmurs still remained being exchanged. "I agree with you." At those words, the whispers among the council ceased and all eyes became glued to the head of House Trevelyan. "But to my great displeasure, we are already involved." He paused for a moment, taking a breath of air and slicking back his umber brown hair before narrowing his forest green eyes on the rows of noblemen that sat before him. "Allow me to speak simply and plainly: The late Teyrn had formally recognized the warden Alistair as King of Ferelden," shocked gasps echoed through the room before Gaius continued, "thus souring all of our relations with our biggest trading partner as well as putting Ostwick under threat of invasion from Ferelden after the blight is over and done with. This invasion our small city could not of had any hope of repelling. The goal of this invasion would have been to overthrow the Teyrn and install a new one, one who seeks friendship and good commerce with our southern neighbors. I have already done the former for them, and now, we will pick a new Teyrn as there are no heirs left to inherit the throne." Gaius sat back down on the chair in the center of the chamber. "I propose myself."

The aged man in the corner of the room again hit his staff against the floor. "A motion is proposed." His shaky voice gave proof to his age beyond mere appearance. "All those who oppose will now stand." A good majority of the nobles began to shift and ster in their seats, beginning to stand up until the familiar sound of the guards unsheathing their swords sounded though the room again. Those who would stand and oppose the usurper now kept silent in their seats as democracy proved to be a swiftly yielding opponent to the man with the sword.

"The motion is carried unanimously." The elder in the room proclaimed and banged his staff one final time, making House Trevelyan officially the most powerful house in Ostwick. Even if the politicians did not accept him, Gaius had the military on his side after a long and brutal campaign against the Qunari, who had tried to start a settlement just west of Ostwick where they'd have a strategically valuable base by the Waking Sea to launch raids from. This militarism, he rationalized, would secure his family the wealth and power of a Teyrn without having to deal with petty politics.

"I am honored that you have chosen me for such an important position. I promise I will lead this city with the Maker's love in my heart, forever." Gaius stated solemnly before moving onto the next topic. "Now that that is settled, I am proud to say that I have already taken efforts towards rekindling our relationship with Ferelden. Cato, if you would be so kind to explain." The robed figure who had walked into the chamber alongside Gaius stepped forwards from the shadows.

Cato moved up to the slightly elevated platform which Gaius and his chair were before beginning to address the council. "As I am sure you all know, Ferelden is without a King. Her Queen sleeps alone at night, with no one at her bedside. To add to this, the Regent Loghain is unsure of the loyalty of his Barons and Arls. In such times of strife, he can only help but see enemies everywhere he looks, and thus Mac Tir looks outward, beyond Ferelden's border for someone that will take Calian's place on the throne. A hard decision for the patriot to take, but none the less he does what needs to be done to secure his country against the false King Alistair. And where else to look but to the city which is just a short sail away across the Waking Sea? That city which already holds so many bonds with Ferelden culturally? Only a fool would dismiss that opportunity."

"Are you saying Ferelden will have a King from Ostwick?!" One noble exclaimed as he and the rest of the nobility began sweating even more so than they were beforehand. The very thought of a King from Ostwick ruling over Ferelden sent chills down there spine. What that could spell for Ostwick, her power and influence, they could only drool and lick their lips over.

"It may." Cato answered, his black hood covering the amused smile that appeared on his face at the nobles premature reaction. "Since his Lordship's first son, Marcus, shall now be heir to Ostwick's throne, that only leaves his other son, Charles, to take the throne. Nothing has been written in stone yet however; we cannot say for sure that this deal has been sealed. There is still much to be discussed and spoken of, and that is why Loghain himself has requested that Charles and I go to Denerim to meet him personally. We are meant to set sail to the capital at dawn."

All those in the chamber were now completely pacified in regards to their new Teyrn. Mere moments in to his rule and Ostwick had already leaped a great distance in power, for even the possibility alone of having one of their own ruling one of the largest nations in Thedas gave great prestige to the seaside city. Their attitudes of intervention swiftly flipped once the idea of benefits and profit came into play. The voices in politics bark loudly and clearly for the world to hear them, that is, until they become tired and frustrated with yelling, then they find someone to speak for them all. All they could do now is wait and see if the winds of destiny would once more blow Ostwick's sail towards greatness.

 **Ten years later...**

Charles quietly examined his nails as the healer began to apply her magic to his leg. He had been injured in the battle when an archer got a lucky shot as he was chasing down the invaders while riding Bucephalus. They had taken him to the hospital after the battle was won and he had been there for several hours as the nurses attended to him and his wound.

While this happened he had been briefed by Rehnsköld, one of his senior officers, about the casualties and aftermath of the battle. He supposed that the six thousand that were lost in the initial siege were not of any fault of his own as he was absent of his command, although the losses still troubled him. After the invaders had made it into the city, another three hundred Caroleans fell along with a great number of civilians that were still being counted, thought there was no doubt among his staff that the amount of non-military lives lost were in the thousands, if not tens of thousands. After the fight on the bridge, another thousand men of Ostwick had fallen on land and sea. However, all these lives lost it was still no match to what happened to the invading army after the bridge. An estimated twenty thousand of them would not return to their families after the siege was over and done with and the last remnants of coalition troops were round up.

"All healed up now, my Lord." The nurse attending to his leg said as she stood up. "Shall I inform the Teyrn that you wish to see him now that you are feeling better?"

"No," Charles looked up from his hand at her, "I think I will rest now." He yawned as he moved his legs up on the bed which the nurse had him placed upon when she was working on him. "Thank you for your service, Miss." The bell tower of Ostwick rung one time as he thanked her, signaling that midnight had come.

"Oh... alright." The nurse turned to leave the room. "Goodnight then, my Lord." She bid him goodbye before closing the door. The dark room, only brightened by the shine of the moon through the bed-side window, then stayed quiet for some time before a voice spoke to the Ostwick Prince.

"You did well today."

He recognized this feminine voice. It had been so long, but he could never forget it.

"I know." He replied plainly, not looking away from the ceiling he stared at in bed. "Still, I cannot dwell on this. There are more battles to be fought, wars to be waged, and legends to be taught."

"You should be proud of yourself. The rest of us are."

"I'm sure that they just can't stop grinning now that I'm back after they exiled me." Charles snapped back, revealing a side of bitterness under his many personalities that few ever saw.

"They still love you. You're their brother, and they're your family. They'll always love you."

"And how do you know that?!" Charles shot up from his bed and looked over to the woman who sat in a wooden chair across the room with her hands placed softly in her lap. A light glow seemed to surround the woman, her fair skin shined in the darkness of the ill-lit room.

"A mother always knows." Olympias Trevelyan spoke gently, her white silk gown glistening in the dark as her son sat up on the bed. (1)

"Of course you do." Charles hissed coldly as he placed his elbows on his knees and rested his jaw on his fist as he sat slouched looking at his mother.

"I also know that you have others who care for you, people outside of your family. It may not be clear at first, but you'll remember how to love very soon." Olympias began, her thick orlesian accent coating her words in honey. "They care because they know that you are a good man at heart. Because of who you are, not the heritage you claim nor the land over which you rule. Cato wasn't able to completely turn my son, I know it."

Charles dismissed her words with a wave of his free hand. The look on his face would make it seem that he had taken a bite out of something too sour for his tastes. "Your son is a manipulating, cheating, greedy liar. A monster who uses those who simply want to be close to him to further his own goals. That is who your son is under the misleading blue eyes and deceiving smile. That is the man who killed you, Father and Catherine."

"Oh Charles..." Olympias stood up and walked over to him. "I don't blame you for what you did, none of us do. It was Cato who made you do it. He tried to change you, but he's gone now and you're still here. You still have so much ahead of you, but I know that you'll be strong enough to face them." She stated as she sat down on the bed next to him. "You'll do the right thing in the end, I know it."

Charles repeated her earlier words, "Mother always knows best." He spoke after chuckling dryly, not looking at her.

Olympias sighed as she fixed the tricorne on his head. "I have to warn you though, my dear boy." She began after she stopped fixing his hat. "I am not the only one who will be visiting you. When the clock strikes mid-night, for three nights you will be visited by three others. Two from your past, and one from your future."

Charles did not seemed to be completely unnerved by this however. "Sounds... just lovely." He responded cheerlessly.

"Do not worry, my little Charlie." Charles' eyes widened as he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. It had been a very, very long time since this had been done to him, and he was not sure at first if he wanted it to happen again. "You seem to have forgotten the meaning of family, but I know you'll remember. Before you and Marcus hated each other, before you were foes, before you were heroes, you were brothers. I saw it, when you two fought together on the bridge. Because of that, I know that you and him will mend your friendship. Then the loneliest of loneliness, which is to be surrounded by so many but not show your heart to them, that which I know you seem to think you are forever-consumed by, will vanish."

"Sure sure, whatever you say."

"Do not 'sure sure, whatever' me!" She flicked him in the ear when he said that. Her orlesian accent was even more prevalent when she was offended, as was with all orlesians in Charles' opinion. After Charles' stopped flinching at the spike of pain in his ear, his mother continued. "And do not forget that you still have family and loved ones, and that they will always mean more than any borders on a map you draw, any empire you build, and any crown you dawn. Understand?"

"...Yes, Mother." Charles avowed softly. "I understand."

"I don't think you do. Not yet." Olympias sighed once more, and Charles felt the weight next to him on the bed disappear, but he did not turn to look. He looked down at his feet in shame. He always hated disappointing his mother. "If those who visit you in the dead of night do not, I am sure there will be others who remind you of the true meaning behind happiness: _Love_."

Charles did not reply to that. There was nothing that he could say, even if his voice did not fail him when he spoke.

"Just remember; I'll be with you, Charlie. Always. Even if you can't see me. And if there's anything you need, I won't be far away."

A hollow wind blew open the bed-side window, the curtains soared for a moment before falling, and Charles was again all by his lonesome self. Even with the people he had met from his time with the Inquisition, there was only one person who he spoke to with honesty, one who spoke to him more than anyone else. That was himself, and his voice would come to him in bouts of madness disguised as drollery, so that he would laugh instead of cry. That voice was truly his last remembrance of happiness, not the fraudulent mask of cheerfulness he placed over the scowl he cast at the world. His heart still struggled against the void of loneliness, and thus compelled him to speak as if he were two.(3)

What was he meant to do now? The woman which gave unto him life had requested something that he and his voice could never hope to accomplish. Was he to deceive himself about the world around him, to lie his way back into love and society?

 _No!_

He refused.

He would not submit himself to the way the world was. It was by no accident of God or trickery by his master mindful uncle that he was the way he was, despotic and double-dealing; this was fate misnamed. He would never be content with his life as it was, not until he attained all power over it; he had drank from the grail of Caesar, and now could not turn back.

 _I will not be conquered! Not by kingdoms and their armies! Not by love and her passions! Not by society their norms! I will instead make them all bow to me!_

If he were to do all he was able to within the confines of the world he was born into, that would cast him as merely another man. But if he were to, by means of sword and silvery tongues, do all that he could ever want, to change the world with his will to power, then he would be a god.

Breaking his thoughts, Charles heard the fluttering of wings behind him. He shot up from his bed and turned to see a small raven sitting upon the open windowsill. The small, black bird stared straight at him with its dark eyes, but Charles noticed that something was... off, with this particular bird. He squinted and saw that there was a small fade of dark turquoise on the ends of its feathers. That, accompanied by the eerie tension in the air that came about upon its landing, told Charles that this was indeed not a raven at all.

His eyes flickered over to the table next to the bed. He saw there the dagger which was used to cut the bandages around his leg; he reached for it, but a hand different than his snatched it.

"Let us not try and kill one another just yet, shall we?"

He turned to face the intruder who stood in-between him and his bed, not knowing what to expect as he did. And who he saw stood before him when he turned only sparked more questions in his mind.

"'Tis rather... uncharacteristic of someone from the pious and devout House Trevelyan to attack an unarmed woman, much less a Herald of Andraste herself." The woman who had entered his room spoke to him in what had to be the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. It was almost hypnotizing. She wore a rather revealing outfit however. A dark velvet cloth, along with a black bra and a black arm strap on her right arm; a black, feathery pauldron with blue tips on the ends of feathers on her left shoulder, and a black sleve on her left arm covered but a small amount of her upper body, leaving much of her pale skin and shapely curves to the naked eye. Just below her neck rested a shining golden necklace with a small turquoise jewel in-between her breasts.

 _She's..._

Over her lower body she wore a much less exposing outfit. Black boots on her feet, black pants over her legs, and black straps along with ripped black cloth hanging down from her hips. Although the whole 'dark and black' thing was sorta being overdone in his opinion, Charles couldn't help but stare.

 _She's beautiful._

"Hello?" She raised her voice slightly, but not enough to alert any of the guards of her presence.

"Uh..." Charles gulped nervously as he realized that he may have been caught in his staring. He paused for a split-second, thinking of what to say.

"Your eyes."

"What?" She asked, now more confused than angry.

"Sorry, I was just distracted by your eyes. They are... they are very pretty."

"Oh... that is... kind of you to say, I suppose." The woman bit her lip, unsure how to respond to what Charles had just told her. "I am... not use to receiving comments on my eyes. Well, at least not ones such as yours. Usually harsher words are used to describe my 'bright, demonic eyes'."

Charles let out a soft laugh at her confession, surprising and confusing the woman even further. "That's quite the coincidence, my eyes have been the subject of much speculation among my enemies as to whether I am some sort of monster."

"Ah, my apologizes then." The woman dipped her head ever so slightly, her fiery eyes never leaving his icy irises as she did. "I know what it feels like to be slandered over something you cannot change. If... if it means anything, I think your eyes are quite 'pretty' as well."

Charles' lips thinned into a smile. "Thank you." He smiled, and for the briefest moment, he could have swore that the woman smiled back. But then, she turned her expression back to a stoic neutral.

"I have heard many things about you, Herald." She began to explain, starting to walk a circle around him as she did. "Some more flattering than others, but they all speak of you as a great colossus of good or evil."

"And who are you?" Charles questioned as he had to turn his head to keep his eyes on the woman who encircled him.

"I have been said to be many things in my time on this world," the woman came full circle around Charles and stopped in front of him, "but you may call me Morrigan."

* * *

1\. Olympias and Gaius are both historically inspired names. Olympias was the mother of Alexander the Great and Gaius was the praenomen of Julius Caesar, who was the adoptive father of Augustus.

2\. It should be clear by now that there is a reason for Charles' distain for Alistair beyond their antipodean personalities. There will be more flashbacks about what happens to Charles in Ferelden and why he was never King of their as well. Also, I wouldn't be leaving the giant, bleeding plot-hole of Charles and Leliana, not knowing each-other, or at least the latter not knowing the former, wide open. There will be a rationale :)

3\. This was meant to give some reasoning behind the somewhat humorous conversations Charles will have with himself sometimes. Kinda dark, well - not just kinda, but still I think it gives a method to his madness.

Also, this is kinda off topic but I just wanted to clarify that the Caroleans (not in name) are basically modelled off of the Roman Legions of the Pax Romana era. This also goes into the general Roman symbolism in Ostwick (the eagles on fasces and Roman-like senate with their Roman togas). There is actually a historical reason behind this that sorta-kinda fits into Dragon Age's cannon, but it would be a bit of a spoiler if I explained so I'll just wait until we get to that part of the story to talk about it.


	12. Brother's Bane

The dim cell he sat in was almost pitch black, and the only minuscule sources of light were cracks through a barred window which he could neither reach nor see.

"If there were no Qunari helping, then where did you get the cannons?!"

"I told you already, we had an anonymous supplier who sent the cannons with a private crew who knew how to operate them!" Casimir repeated for the umpteenth time, but just as those many times he had explained it before, his interrogator merely hit him across the back of his head with a metal bar when he answered his demands. His brown hair was greased and unkempt and his entire body felt sore and tired as it was held strapped down to a wooden chair.

"And where is this 'private crew' now?!" The interrogator questioned. He was dressed in what was supposed to be an intimidating horned mask. However, the answers he sought would not be found within he who was being interrogated.

"Maybe they survived, maybe they died. I cannot say." Casimir replied, knowing it would be an answer that would not satisfy the interrogator. But before he could strike him again with the iron bar, the door to his cell shot open. The figure which opened it he recognized immediately.

"Leave us." Charles ordered the interrogator who had bruised and bloodied Casimir's body for so long. The interrogator gave a quick bow to the General before exiting, leaving the two enemies alone in the room with one another. Casimir glared at the man who had so thoroughly and decisively defeated him as he pulled a chair from the corner of the room and positioned it in front of the chair of his own.

"So, what ever happened to that whole 'the will of the maker is on our side' thing?" Charles began, mocking Casimir's words from yesterday as he sat down in the chair in front of him. "It would seem that relying on a deity who abandoned this world and all of its inhabitants thousands of years ago wasn't the best idea after all."

"What do you want?" Casimir spat his words, not wanting to hear anymore of the smug Trevelyan's banter.

"Just tying up some loose ends." Charles chuckled as he sat up in his chair and reached for the dagger on his belt. He grasped the hilt in his right hand and the blade in his left as Casimir watched every moment of it. His brown eyes widened as he witnessed Charles cut clean across his own closed palm, causing fresh blood to drip down from his clenched hand.

"W-What in the Maker's name are you!?" He asked, his voice trembling in fear as Charles quickly turned around and violently kicked his chair over before turning back to Casimir, who was still bound in his own chair.

"Just a man with ambition." Charles answered simply, grinding his teeth in pain as he began to stumble over to where Casimir was.

"Get away from me!" Casimir yelled as Charles drew closer and closer, his bloody left hand now fallen limp as his right still held the dagger. Fear synergized with strength, and Casimir managed to rip the rope which bound him to the chair. But as soon as the rough texture of the rope left him, a sneering white-hot pain shot through his veins. He looked down, not only to see that he was free from his bonds, but to see the already bloodied iron dagger firmly implanted within his chest.

Casimir looked up at Charles, who stood over him as he pulled the dagger from his chest. At that moment, as he looked up into Charles' cold blue eyes, Casimir finally realized what the man behind the legend of Carolus Rex truly was, what the man pulling the strings of war and power truly was. He was worse than any demon, any heretic, or any Tevinter could ever be. In his last, dying moments, the pieces of the puzzle of _'what makes HIM so special'_ , that which he had been trying to place together for so many years, finally fit.

He saw greed, hate, deceit, pride, fear, desire, terror, despair, and war. He saw that which was the ultimate culmination of mankind's sins.

In his final moments of revelation, the pious Casimir gave a prayer.

 _O Holy Andraste, have you forsaken us? Did you crown this man as your Herald, not to deliver us from war and suffering, but for him to be the harbinger of a divine fury? Not to save us, but to punish us for the chaotic world we have created? Is he the monument to all our sins? The statue crafted from the marble of mankind's corruption? Is he what we deserve? If so, then I may firmly believe it with all my heart..._

 _Charles Trevelyan is indeed the Herald of Andraste._

"For ages now, humanity has been under siege by the creatures that created the machines of war that brought down Ostwick's walls." Charles began, regaining his stance and letting his right hand fall to his side. "Institutions such as the Chantry have done well in serving as a banner which humanity can unite under against the Qunari, but now the Chantry is but a relic from the past, from a different time when it was unique in its ability to solve humanity's problems. Now their beautiful cathedrals only serve as the tombstone of a dead God. No, there will have to be a new idol now.."

"Fool!" Casimir spat through bloody coughs. "The Chantry is not bound to humanity alone!"

Charles chuckled softly. "How right you are." He snorted before pushing Casimir and his chair over. "The Chantry has _used_ humanity! Where do you think their preachers go when another Exulted March is called? To the Alienage? Orzammar? No! They sent their propagandist mouth-pieces down into the lowest depths of our cities, the poorest of our towns, and emerge with hordes of our people, brainwashed, and kissing their feet! At least that is how it use to be." Charles explained as he stood over Casimir. "Now they are too lazy to even do that. They've out sourced the job of gathering soldiers and raging war against heretics to the people who know war best, to people like me. So I am more than qualified to cast judgment and say their wars don't work! Some may called it a stalemate between us and the Qunari, but yet it is they who are pushing deeper into Tevinter every day! Because the plutocrats who sit at the roundtables of the Chantry, with their silk clothes and fur hats, don't know how to solve the world's problems. But I do. And I have, starting here." With dagger in hand, Charles knelt down besides the bleeding Casimir. "When another inevitable war with the Qunari at last dawns, we will be ready. Today I have made sure of it. There will be no shortage of volunteers, no shortage of patriots to raise their swords against the Qunari and their disgusting dogma. And when the war does come, I will be there to make sure it is the last between our kinds." He drew the dagger slowly across Casimir's throat. "I know you understand." Then, the light disappeared from Casimir's eyes as the blade cut swiftly across his exposed neck.

Charles stood back up before, suddenly, the door behind him slammed open.

"Sir!" The interrogator from before ran through the doorway. "Are you okay?!"

Charles clenched his bleeding fist and dropped the dagger to the ground. "I'll be fine." He began, using his now free right hand to hold the wrist of his bloody left in front of his chest. "The man who you were interrogating managed to free himself from his bonds and snatch my dagger from my belt. He did so by tackling me off in my chair." He nodded his head over to his knocked-over chair. "I did manage to get my dagger back and overpower him, but not before he cut my hand."

"Would you like me to call the medics?" The interrogator asked.

"No," Charles answered, rubbing his hand as control over it returned to him and the bleeding began to lessen, "but I do want to know one thing. What did he tell you about those cannons?"

Charles could not see under the interrogator's mask, but he could tell that the man was surprised by his rather specific question. "When I got him to talk, he said that there was an anonymous supplier who lent the cannons to him along with a special team of soldiers who knew how to operate them, and that they were not Qunari. That's what he told me before-"

"No he didn't."

The interrogator paused, confused at what Charles had just said. "...Excuse me? What do you mean by that, Sir?" He asked scrupulously.

"He. Did. Not. Say. That." Charles repeated, his words cold and clear. "What he said was that the Qunari helped with the siege, but only by giving them the artillery fire which would break down the city's walls. They then fled after the invasion had been repelled and took their cannons with them. That is why there were no Qunari bodies to be found after the fight and no cannons to be found outside the city. There presence was also kept a secret from even the highest officers as to not upset the troops over foreign involvement, that is why many will claim that there were no Qunari fighting with them in the city or at all during the siege." Charles then began to walk towards the door, brushing past the stunned interrogator. "That is what you will tell your superiors when they ask you what the leader of the invasion said when he broke. You will not mention an 'anonymous supplier' or any 'private artillery crew'."

He stopped half-way through opening the door and half-turned his head back to look at the interrogator. "Unless you wish to end up like our good friend Casimir, you won't even mention I was here."

Charles then left the shaken interrogator to clean up the mess he had made. The light of day illuminated the hallways of the Trevelyan castle he walked from the dungeon towards his personal hovel. Once he entered, Charles stumbled over to the bedside drawer where he kept his... special potions. As soon as he gulped down but a quarter of one of them, his wound completely healed and the scar on his hand from said wound disappeared soon after. A soft sigh of relief left his lips once the pain was gone. While the sneering pain he had felt in wounding himself was harsh, the punishment he would receive if Casimir's words became public knowledge, or even known among a private few, would have been far worse.

 _Let's see... I now have my casus belli against the Qunari and all of the Free Marcher cities who tried to take over Ostwick._ Charles thought as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gloves he had removed from his hand for obvious reasons before entering the interrogation cell. _And I'm sure it won't be too long before the rest of the world tries to undermine the Inquisition or me._

Charles smirked as he flopped back against his bed, his head finding a resting place against the large, red Free Marcher pillows.

 _Ferelden shouldn't be too difficult. All I need to do is cause some economic problems or food shortages and the people will place the blame on whomever rules over them, whether it be their fault or not. Such is the way of revolution. After they've spent so long looking from across the Waking Sea at my city's success while their own country reeks of chaos, all I will have to do then is dip my head and they'll crown me King. It will be about ten years late, but a crown is a crown. One crown at a time, until it is all mine._

His hands reached for the black tricorne on his head and removed it before tossing it on top of the same bedside drawer to the right of him which he kept his potions in. He ran his hand through his hair, brushing it to the side while basking it the refreshing feeling of not having the tricorne over it.

 _Orlais will be even easier. They've already plunged themselves into civil war for me. I merely need to play up that whole 'restoring order' rhetoric from before to seize power._

 _Everything is looking up Charles... and Ostwick, and maybe even a bit Inquisition, but mostly Charles_. He thought, looking up at the shining golden broadsword that was hung upon a plaque over his fireplace. Besides his grand title of Herald of Andraste, and all of the advances it had brought with it, that sword was the greatest prize he had taken from his last trip to Ferelden.

 **\- One hour later, The Senate -**

 **(Begin playing: Rome OST - 10. Marshall Law, The Temple)**

The Senate House was filled with murmurs. The nobles sat in their seats with their white togas flowing down to their ankles, whispering guesses among one another as to where their 'saviour' was.

"I've never seen so many long faces before in all my life." One senator spoke to another who sat next to him as he observed the men who sat around them.

"They are only following tradition." Marcus Trevelyan replied to his fellow nobleman. "It is custom to be sad at a funeral."

"Is someone dying?" The senator asked confusedly, turning his head to look directly at Marcus, who sat to his right.

"No," Marcus sighed, "just a little dream I once had called liberty. When the Senate dies, it will surely follow."

"You really believe that?" The senator continued to question him.

"As someone who has spent his entire life with the man who we may as well crown King at this point, I have no doubts." Marcus lamented as he looked down at his feet. "All we can do now is be reconciled with Carolus Rex, for the unity and stability of Ostwick and her people."

"I suppose that is the only honorable thing we can do at this point." The noble mused as he looked away from Marcus.

"Honor?" Marcus laughed dryly. "None of us here would be in this chamber if we had honor."

Their murmurs ceases as the giant decorative door in front of them opened and the guards parted for the subject of their talk to enter.

"The Senate is now in session!" The elder amongst them proclaimed, banging the end of his staff against the marble floor as Charles Trevelyan silently walked up and took his seat on the chair in the center of the Senate House. That chair which was traditionally held by the Teyrn, the most powerful person in Ostwick. Only now was it painfully clear to every nobleman in the chamber that the person who held power over the city of Ostwick was no longer the Teyrn.

"The Senate will hear Marcus Francis Trevelyan." Another bang of the staff signaled for the deprived Teyrn to stand. He took a breath of air before he stood and began his oration.

"On this day, I move that, due to the dire circumstances of our time, Charles Caesar Trevelyan be made Imperator and granted absolute power over Ostwick until peace is made with our fellow Free Marcher cities and order is restored."(1)

A moment of blaring silence passed in the Senate Chamber before the senators around him began to clap. Forced, bitter clapping, but clapping none the less.

"As some of you may know, Charles and I have had our disagreements in the past." Marcus began after the clapping calmed and the echoes faded. "But he has proven himself to be just as brilliant of as an architect of peace as he is invincible in battle." He had quite the difficult time saying the first bit, but Marcus still tarried on in his speech. "Let this be an end to political division and civil strife within our grand and glorious city. I willingly pledge my loyalty to him and I urge you all to follow in my footsteps!"

The claps within the chamber began to peak up again, so much that the elder had to bang his staff to quiet them as Marcus sat down. Doing this contracted every principle he had ever stood for, but there was nothing else he could do now. If he did not propose this, no one else in the Senate would. If it was out of fear of losing their power or out of hatred for Charles, they would silently stand by. But Marcus knew that there was only one person who could protect them from the world outside of Ostwick's walls now, and that was his brother, Charles 'the Great'. After the siege which took his city by such surprise, Marcus realized he could never be the man of war Charles was, and had now forced himself to accept that fact.

"A motion is proposed." He avowed after his staff ceased hitting the marble floor. "All who stand in opposition, make thyself known."

Not a single soul took it upon himself to stand on that fateful evening.

 _Just as I thought._ Marcus mused, frowning at the senators and at himself as they stayed glued to their seats.

 _There is no honor to be found in this dreadful place. No honor at all._

"The motion is carried unanimously." Upon those words being spoken by the elder, Charles stood from his chair with a somber expression crossing his handsome features.

"All of you here today before stood in favor of the motion to exile me from Ostwick." He began solemnly as he looked around the room into the eyes of Ostwick's nobility. "Many of you even wished me dead. Some of you still do. But I hold no grudges over this, nor do I seek any vengeance. I ask only that you join with me in building a new Ostwick." His hands met with one other behind his back as he puffed out his chest. "An Ostwick that offers wealth, justice, and security to all its people. An Ostwick that is seen not by her fellow Free Marcher cities as a hungry warmonger who lusts for land and power, but as a harbinger of prosperity. The same prosperity which Ostwick has enjoyed for so many years. Support me in this righteous task, and old divisions shall be cast aside. Oppose me... and Ostwick and her people will not forgive you a second time."

An eerie howl of silence swept through the room for a second before Charles continued.

"If that is now clear... Senators," he sat back down in his chair, his eyes not moving off of those before him for a moment as he did, "I humbly accept your offer."

 **(Stop playing: Rome OST - 10. Marshall Law, The Temple)**

"Now, we should get down to business. I have several things which need to be done in order to begin the process of bringing about our new Ostwick. First, we will officially declare ourselves allied with the Inquisition and recognize them as legitimate. Second, immediately conscript every able-body male over the age of eighteen within the walls of Ostwick to help rebuild the army and the city after we were so unjustly attacked. Lastly, after I depart for my Herald duties in Ferelden and Orlais, control of the city will be given to my officers in the army. You will be subject to them just as you are now subject to me."

There would be no voting in favor or against now. The Senate had given up their voice out of fear and now would be subjected to the will of the one who could protect them or destroy them.

"I thank all of you for your cooperation and hope that in the future we stay as we are now: unified." Charles finished as he stood once more from his chair. "The Senate is dismissed." He announced with his absolute power and the senators stood from their seats and began to make their way towards the exit as Charles watched them. All exited but one.

"Is there something you need, Brother?" Charles asked as Marcus stood before him alone on the Senate floor.

"Yes, I need to inform you of a letter I received from the Chantry." Marcus began. "Word of your victory against the invasion must have reached them. They've sent a letter asking to formally meet and discuss the possibility of your Inquisition receiving the support of the Chantry. They wish to meet here in Ostwick, but the only problem is they have no one to guard them for the journey from Val Royeaux. The Templars... they've abandoned them, and soon they fear that the capital of Orlais itself may do the same and eject them from its walls. That is why they seek to come here for refuge, and also require new soldiers to do so."

From the look Charles gave him, Marcus could tell he was neither surprised nor unhappy with this. In fact, he looked somewhat pleased with this. As if the building blocks had fallen into place on their own. Pieces of the puzzle arranging themselves for him.

"Very well. Send Rehnskiöld with a detachment of a thousand soldiers to escort the Chantry officials to Ostwick." Charles ordered him, and Marcus gave one final bow to him before leaving.

Charles was alone now. His eyes looked over the empty seats of the Senate, then to the statue that stood behind them. Behind the seats was a white marble statue of the eagle which was only to found in the Vimmarks mountains that were in close vicinity to Ostwick. It was the same eagle he used on the standard when he marched over the Vimmarks those many years ago. Its wings were spread wide and it looked down intimidatingly at whomever sat in the center seat. But he was not afraid, not now, not anymore. Taming it had been quite the journey, but it was now his. The eagle would now forever sit loyally on his shoulder, whether the Senate liked it or not.

 _Everything is looking up Charles indeed._ He thought with a smirk before turning and exiting the former house of democracy.

 _So much for that whole 'restoring brotherhood' thing._

 **\- A half hour later, Ostwick's south gate -**

"So, what are we out here for again?" Sera asked as she leaned back against the stonewall behind her. The chilly air that surrounded her caused her arms to wrap around her waist in an attempt to fend off the cold.

"The Lady Seeker received a letter which called for all members of the Inquisition present in the Ostwick docks to meet at the gates." Solas replied, standing up straight unlike his fellow elf.

"That could mean either something really good or really shite has gone down." Sera grimaced, looking over to where said Seeker currently paced back and forth with worry in her eyes in front of the gates and the soldiers who stood guard vigilantly. Clearly Cassandra thought the latter. "Do you think that's why Varric and his friends decided to not come?"

"That is more likely due to the fact that Merrill has been missing for hours now, Sera." Solas answered in a smug manner. Looking over the elf and the haughty way he responded to her for now, Sera thought of when Isabela first learned of the dalish's sudden disappearance. The pirate woman seemed like the playful sort, however Sera learned then that the storms of fury that could arise from within her were just as powerful as those she traversed on sea.

In her opinion, it was pretty damn hot. Although she would rather not have that anger ever turned on her.

Suddenly, the gates shot open. Sera pushed herself off the wall, Cassandra paused in her pacing, and Solas looked to where the gates were from where he had stood.

"Good afternoon, my fellow Inquisitionaries!" Charles greeted gleefully as he walked through the gates, two guards on either of his flanks.

Cassandra's face brightened and her heart soared. He was alive. He had made it through the chaos of battle, and now he had returned to her. Like those fairytales her mother use to read to her, the hero survived against all odds to return to his love. Or something akin to that.

 _Maker, help me. I really shouldn't be romanticizing him like this. It's not right._ Cassandra told herself, but it did little to sway what her thoughts on the young handsome nobleman who came into her life like a storm, caring little for the barriers which she had spent so long building.

"Cassandra!" Charles called out her name as he walked towards her. "It's good to see you again." He said just as he stopped in front of her.

 _Don't mess this up now._ Cassandra thought as she prepared herself to speak. _Just be the calm and collected woman that you've always been. This is simply a meeting between two members of the Inquisition, so be professional. You could say "it is good to see you too'" or ask "what happened after the battle", or say-_

"I missed you."

Cassandra blinked a few times, questioning if she had really just said that out loud. The surprised look on Charles' face was what gave her an answer.

 _Maker, damn it all!_ Cassandra screamed at herself inwardly. _You moron! You can hold your own against hundreds of foes, but not your tongue when faced with a single man?! How did you even become a Seeker to begin-_

"I missed you too."

Cassandra's chestnut eyes widened and her brow rose at those words which Charles spoke so softly.

"You... you did?" She asked, the words trembling slightly on her lips.

"Very much so." Charles stated with a smile before reaching into the leather pouch that hung from his waist. "In fact, I even got you something." He proclaimed, pulling out from the pouch something which caused Cassandra's heart to skip a beat. "I would have gotten you a bouquet but they were all sold out." A single red rose rested in his open palm which he held out to her.

 _He got me... a rose._ A starstruck Cassandra thought as her eyes scanned over the flower which she gently took from Charles' hand. Before she could say anything in response to him, another voice joined the conversation.

"Where's my pretty flower then, my bonnie Prince?" Sera asked somewhat jokingly as she walked up next to Cassandra.

Charles' smile only widened at the elf's words. "Fright not!" He exclaimed as he again reached into his pouch, this time to pull out another rose, this time yellow. "I got you one to match with your leggings."

 _Oh, so now he spends his free time looking at her legs?!_ Cassandra thought, her previous feelings of affection replaced by a different, darker feeling as she quietly glared at Sera.

"Aww, you are so sweet for a noble arsehole." Sera tittered as she took the rose from him, sarcasm laced within her words.

"Well this 'noble arsehole' just got back from the Senate, where he had Ostwick formally recognize the Inquisition and become allies with us!" Charles announced, gesturing with his thumb pressed into his chest as Solas walked up to them.

"Well done." Solas complemented. "I assume we are to travel back to Haven now?"

"Not yet." Charles replied before turning back to the gates. "Come, I'll explain. By the way, where are Varric and the others?" He asked as he gestured for them to follow as he and his two guards walked back through the gate.

 **\- Trevelyan Castle -**

Marcus sat down at the head of one end of the formally laid dinner table with a bitter frown on his face. Today had been a terrible day for him. He hoped that maybe a warm meal would cheer him up but that was currently not the case.

"Charles seems to be taking his sweet time in bringing his guests." He stated as he and Helen sat alone together at the table with eight other empty seats.

"I'm sure he is doing something important." Helen sighed Charles as she stared at her food with a glazed look in her eyes, knowing that she or Marcus would not begin eating until the all the seats were full.

Marcus looked up from his food at her. "Why you always make excuses for him is beyond me. You and I know that many of the things you say on his behalf he would not say the same for you." He asserted sharply.

Before Helen could reply, the double doors behind her chair shot open.

"Pardon us for being late," Charles began as he and three other people entered through the doorway, "I had promised to give my friends here a tour of the city once hey got in."

"You promised to take ME on a tour." Interjected a elven woman with short blonde hair and a red hunter's coat with a clearly Ferelden accent. Marcus was rather surprised to see that Charles had brought with him not one, but two elves. Perhaps this would be something he could use to his advantage, if such an opportunity arose.

"My dear Sera, please, forgive me for trying to be inclusive." Charles responded sarcastically as he sat down at the other head of table across from Marcus. "O what ever could I do to make it up to you?"

"Hm... I think I know something you can do." Sera mused as she pulled out a chair for herself. "Later though, in private." Marcus noticed that as well as being the chair closest to Charles, the 'Sera' woman had taken the chair that the other woman, who had a Seeker symbol embroiled on her leather chestplate had been reaching for. He also noticed how the Seeker woman glared at the unknowing elf behind her back before moving to sit down next to her.

 _Very interesting indeed._ Marcus thought, taking notes in his head of the relationships Charles had formed with his new acquaintances.

"Are there not supposed to be seven, Charles?" He asked across the table.

"Four of them got lost on the way to the castle." Charles replied with chuckle. "Though I suppose I should introduce the ones who made it here." He gestured to the bald elf who sat to his right.

"This is Solas."

Solas bowed his head to Marcus for a moment before Charles gestured with his hand to the elven woman to his left.

"This is Sera."

Sera merely flicked her hand back and forth weakly as a greeting before Charles gestured to the woman who sat next to her.

"And this is Cassandra."

"It is an honor to meet you, your Lordship." Cassandra mimicked the same respectful bow of the head which Solas did earlier.

"As it is to you, Lady Seeker, and to all of you." Said Marcus. "I look forward to working with the Inquisition."

"I'm sure it will be a mutually beneficially relationship." Charles smiled across the table at his brother, who had to forcefully withdraw any sign of anger from appearing on his face at what he saw - no, _knew_ was disguised mockery.

"To Ostwick!" Marcus proclaimed, raising his glass of antivan wine high above the dining table.

Charles then raised his glass of water, and the others all at the table followed in suite.

"To the Inquisition!"

* * *

1\. It's important to note that Imperator doesn't necessarily mean 'Emperor' in this context. In ancient Rome, the honorific title of Imperator was given by Legions to their Commanders after a stunning victory (which is what Charles had done in repealing the invasion of Ostwick a few chapters back). If the Senate recognized this claim to Imperator, they would grant said victorious Commander Imperium, which means 'absolute control' in the context of the roman days of old and as well in this story. So an Imperator is what Charles is (a triumphal military leader) and Imperium is what Charles wants (absolute control). I hope the reasoning behind the title of this story has started to reveal itself by now along with his speech a bit ago on the bridge.

So, this in this chapter I did a new thing with the whole time-skip/p.o.v-change thing if you didn't notice. Now, instead of horizontal lines, there are little line thingies with the name of the place! This will also sometimes signify a change in p.o.v, not only a location change. Horizontal lines are sooooooo 2015, and line thingies are the new... uh... snuggies! Those are still popular, right? Right? (sarcasm)


	13. Update

UPDATE: You may have noticed that there are some missing chapters here, but worry not, there is an explanation. I decided that the flashbacks of Charles' involvement in Dragon Age Origins are worthy of a story of their own. So I removed them from this, and will be putting them in another story called "The Pretender". So, if you're interested in following that then you can, well, follow that story I guess.

By the way, the next chapter for this story should be up within the week.


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